


The Fiend and the Fire

by Phoenix_Writes



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (Obviously), Abuse, Amnesia, Caleb has it really rough you guys, Caleb needs a hug, Canon actually has very little to do with this, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fire, Fjord and Molly have the only braincell, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magic, Mild Suicidal Ideation, Mollymauk never knows what he's doing, Multi, Murder, Plague, Political Intrigue, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Royalty, Self-Harm, Starvation, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide Attempt, Tags Will Be Updated Frequently, They Share It, Touch-Starved Caleb Widogast, but only for a little while, he's just really good at faking it, magic tattoos, plot heavy, power games, really I mean it's so far away, this is borderline human trafficking, this... gets really dark sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 51,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Writes/pseuds/Phoenix_Writes
Summary: Mollymauk Tealeaf was never meant to be king. The bastard son of a demon, he expected to be dead long before he did anything of note. When he met his friends and went adventuring, he found that that was everything he needed, and he never asked for more.When his father and brother die unexpectedly, Mollymauk is left the sole heir of a kingdom halfway to ruin. Good thing he's a quick learner.Caleb Widogast knows his fate. He is a weapon, a bargaining chip, an experiment. He has no right to mourn the life he burned with his own hands.(tags will update as chapters are added)
Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widowgast, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia
Comments: 433
Kudos: 560
Collections: Noice





	1. Wanderers' Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, I'm currently on episode seven of campaign 2. I know a bunch of stuff from my friend who's been in it a lot longer, but forgive me anyway if I fuck up locations or anything. Anyway, this is heavily inspired by two fics: Sworn Fealty by GrannyBoo and Toy Soldier by suluismyspirit. I'm fascinated by these character dynamics, so I thought I'd give it a try myself!

Mollymauk Tealeaf wasn’t meant to be king. As far as he was concerned, he was meant to stay out of his father’s way. That was fine by him. Mollymauk was content, for the most part. He had a family of his own choosing, and he had a purpose. That purpose, usually, was kicking ass with his friends and ignoring the special place in his heart where his homeland lived. It had been spoiled for him by his bastard of a father, and he wasn’t going back, no matter how much he missed the winding streets and sharp, round city voices. 

When the summons came, he nearly threw the envelope into the fire pit. Fjord stopped him with a hand on his wrist. 

“You should hear what they have to say,” said Fjord. 

“I don’t care what my father has to say.” Molly dropped the envelope into the dirt. It was a pity, he thought, that he wasn’t close enough to fling it into the fire. 

“I’ll read it, then.” Nott snatched it and used one long, jagged nail as a letter opener. She did drop the envelope into the fire, and it burned slowly, curling and flaking into delicate ashes. Molly could tell from the way it burned that it was real parchment; a rarity in his father’s backwater country. The country that would never be Molly’s, because bastard sons got nothing that they didn’t fight for, tooth and nail. 

Nott smothered a shocked breath. Passing the parchment to Fjord, who dropped Molly’s wrist to take it, Nott decided to comfort herself by stealing a slice of Beau’s smoked ham from off her lap. 

“Hey!” Beau’s hand snapped out to grab at Nott, but the little goblin ducked out of range and devoured the ham in a single bite. 

Reaching the end of the single page, Fjord took a deep breath. “You’re gonna want to read this one, Molly.” 

“No.” Molly would not get his hopes up just to have them ruined. Not again. He was full grown, and his goddamned father had no power over him. 

“Look, I understand how unwilling you are -”

“Your father’s dead. So is your brother.” Nott didn’t look up from licking her fingers, but Molly could see the pained expression hiding behind her yellow eyes. 

If Nott thought he’d be hurt, she was sorely mistaken. Molly thanked the stars that his father was gone, and his brother too. They were raging despots, both of them, and the world was better off without them. 

“Why are they notifying me?” He turned, leaning against Fjord. Fjord huffed, but didn’t push him off. Molly knew that if Fjord really wanted him off, he’d be on the ground. 

Nott fixed her wide yellow eyes on Molly. “You’re the new king of Zadash, I’m afraid.” 

Molly sat up. “I’m _what?”_

There had to be at least a few degrees of separation between “dead heir” and “bastard king,” right? It couldn’t be that easy. There was no universe in which Molly was on the list of possible successors, let alone _actually succeeding_. 

“The new king of-” 

“I _heard_ you!” It was the impossibility of the thing that shocked him. It was the idea of actually getting a say in how his country was run, being able to help his people out of the grave that his incompetent father dug for them. 

Behind him, Fjord shrugged. “I guess we don’t have to worry about our next destination anymore.” 

Molly sat back, brow furrowed, excitement and trepidation mixing in his chest. He was never meant to be the king. Then again, he was never very good at following instructions. 

\--

The palace at Zadash was, if possible, in worse shape than the last time Molly saw it. The outer walls were crumbling and sprouting weeds, the walls of the keep carpeted in ivy, and at least one of the towers was nothing but a burned out shell (siege? Spell gone wrong?). 

As Mollymauk steered the wagon along the narrow streets of Zadash, he could sense hundreds of eyes on him. The demon king’s bastard heir. His rare coloring would perhaps make it worse, and his companions would be no help. A half Orc, a tiefling, a goblin, an Aasimar, and a disgraced monk were no entourage for a king, even one such as him. Mollymauk found that he liked it that way. It was past time that Zadash learned to love its misfits. 

A servant waited for them at the gates, eyeing them dubiously. 

“My lord,” he said, bowing low. He was little more than a boy, though a mop of curly dark locks hid the youth of his face. 

Molly nodded, unsure how to respond. 

After a pause that lasted far too long, the boy extended his hand. “May I take your horses? The steward wishes to meet with you as soon as possible.” 

“If you wouldn’t mind, Mister….” 

The boy caught on quickly, though he seemed confused by the thought of Molly wanting to know his name. “Emer, my lord.” 

Molly grinned at him in a way he hoped wasn’t threatening. “Emer. Don’t bother unpacking the wagon, we’ll come back for it.” 

Emer nodded. “Yes, my lord.” 

Jester and Nott clambered out of the wagon, chattering the whole while. Fjord passed Yasha his reins as he dismounted, and then held hers. Nerves starting to gather in his stomach, Molly jumped to the cobbled courtyard and passed Emer the reins of the horse hitched to the wagon. Nodding again briefly, Emer led their three horses and the wagon away. 

“Well, that was a warm welcome,” Nott said, rolling her eyes. 

“Come on.” Molly started walking. “If the steward is the same as last time I was here, we might be in for a long afternoon.” 

\--

The steward was exactly the same as Molly remembered, which was to say, not dissimilar to a dried plum. Wrinkled, sour, and altogether too old for his position. 

“My lord,” he said, bowing creakily. It was the same old man that Molly had tormented when he was a boy, and Molly wondered in passing if the steward had some kind of longevity spell worked into him. 

“Remri,” he said, not bothering to try and sound happy to see him. 

“I offer my condolences regarding the death of your father and brother,” said the Steward. 

“Thanks,” said Molly. He really didn’t care, as long as they stayed dead. “Was there something pressing we needed to discuss?” 

Remri glanced between Molly and the others. “It is a.. Sensitive matter, my lord.” 

“Anything you discuss with me, you can discuss with them.” Molly planted his hands on his hips, leveling his hellfire red gaze at the old man. It was a move that won bar fights before they even started, and Molly was not above using it to get Remri out of his hair. 

“... yes, my lord.” He inclined his head. “I was hoping to discuss your coronation, and the appointment of your court, among other pressing matters.” 

“Ah. Well, I don’t suppose we’ll be hosting an international affair with the palace in this state. I can be crowned as soon as tradition allows, I suppose. No ceremony required.” 

Molly had never cared much for ceremony. He’d rather get to work fixing the mess his father had left for him.

“Yes, my lord.” 

Molly decided to take over before Remri got going, which would have definitely kept them in that dilapidated foyer for hours. “And as for the court, my companions have their choice of any and all titles, if they wish to stay. I will appoint the rest of the court as the need arises.” 

Molly started walking, hoping to get the others settled before drawing up battle plans. 

“Yes, my lord.” Remri doubled his pace to keep up with Molly’s long legs. “I was also hoping to speak with you about a few pressing matters of state -” 

Molly waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, Remri. My court and I will worry about all matters of state once we’ve settled in. I assume the residential wing hasn’t moved?” 

“No, my lord.” Remri looked taken aback at how quickly Molly had stepped into the role, but he shouldn’t have been. Molly had always been good at charming his way, and that had always required a sense of performance. 

“Good. I will discuss with my companions their role in all of this, and get back to you with a plan of action.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

Molly waved the old man off, taking a turn down a narrow hall. The others followed him, Yasha and Fjord having to tuck their shoulders in to keep from scraping them against the stonework. 

“Sorry about the tight fit, everybody, but this is the quickest route to our destination.” 

“No problem,” Nott said, grin splitting her face into a horrendous picture of jagged teeth and yellow eyes. 

“Nott, that’s terrifying.” Beau said, hands tucked under her arms. 

The corridor turned to a flight of narrow, spiraling steps, stopping at a door set into the wall. Molly opened it and pushed aside a ratty tapestry, revealing a dusty, wide hall lined with heavy doors. 

“Take your pick.” He waves at the expanse of doors and carpet. “Aside from the three at the far end. Those are… more trouble than they’re worth.” 

Jester, surprisingly silent since their arrival, ran off to explore. “Oh my GOSH! these rooms are great!” 

“They all seem pretty dusty,” Fjord commented, glancing inside the rooms as Jester ran about, exclaiming over the setup of each room. 

“Well, nobody but my father and brother have lived here for close to a decade,” Molly said, watching Jester’s wonder with an amused smile. “I suppose we’ll have to have them cleaned out.” 

“I’ll take this one,” Fjord offers. At his cue, the others split off, each picking a room of their own. 

“Molly, where will you be sleeping?” Jester had sidled up behind him, giving him a solid whack with her tail. 

He jumped, then whacked her back lightly. They did that, sometimes, calming nerves with a familiar _I’m here._ “My old room, I’m afraid. It’s at the far end of the hall.” 

Jester pouted, crossing her arms with a huff. “Well if I had _known_ that, I would have picked a closer room!” 

Molly grinned, knocking on one of her horns with a knuckle. “Apologies, Jester. I’ll let you know next time.” 

She smiled at that, dropping the pretense of being upset. “That’s all right. I like my room.” 

“I’m glad.”


	2. The Waiting Game

Caleb, Astrid, and Eodwulf stood side by side. The cavernous hall that Trent Ikithon used as their classroom seemed to swallow them, but Caleb didn't feel lost. He stood square, awaiting his turn, and watched Astrid fumble through their latest assignment. 

As he watched, a flurry of weak sparks burst from Astrid's fingertips. They died in the air, mere moments after their birth. 

Astrid blanched. There were no second chances in Ikithon's classroom. Caleb watched as Master Ikithon approached like a lion, sharp, deep set eyes set on Astrid. He knew how that gaze felt. It was like a blade at your throat: silent, dangerous, impossible to ignore. 

The moment he was close enough, Ikithon sent Astrid to the floor with a backhanded blow. 

Ikithon eyed her. "Get up." 

Shaking, Astrid stood. Caleb's lungs seized in empathy, but he kept his face stony. 

Ikithon stalked back, pacing an invisible perimeter. "Eodwulf."

Caleb watched Eodwulf close his eyes to work the spell, bracing himself for the reprimand he knew would come. No matter who it was directed towards, Ikithon knew how to command fear. 

Almost lazily, Ikithon flicked his hand in Eodwulf's direction. A spark flew from Ikithon's finger, landing on the junction of Eodwulf's jaw and burning there for far longer than it should have. Eodwulf's eyes flew open, holding himself against the inescapable burning. Shrinking away was not an option. 

"Keep your eyes open," Ikithon said smoothly. 

Eodwulf nodded, focusing on a spot in the middle distance. It was a poor compromise, Caleb thought, but he had followed the order. 

Unlike Astrid, Eodwulf managed the spell. Flames blooming from his fingertips, skin blackening and peeling away. As the smell of burning flesh thickened, the flames coalesced into a stream of fire that swirled around Eodwulf like a shield. The flames came free of his hands, perpetuating themselves in an endless spiral of heat. 

Before long, the impressive show guttered like a candle in a draft. It went out in curls of acrid, artful smoke, which Eodwulf pulled out of the air with a flick of the wrist. 

Without so much as a nod to Eodwulf's success, Ikithon turned his attention to Caleb. 

Almost of their own accord, his fingers twisted. The fire might burn away the ugly thing in his chest, make him pure and useful like Ikithon intended. Caleb felt the heat burn through his veins and burst from his fingertips. It was a silent spell, a simple dance of fingers and will, but it burned in pleasing shades of yellow and white. Hotter than Eodwulf's. His fingertips blistered and split, blackening as blue flames poured into the air. 

The ends of Caleb's cropped hair singed, the shield of fire weaving into a complex pattern, cinching tight to the edge of bearable distance. 

It burns far longer than Eodwulf's. It doesn't fade until Caleb feels raw and burned, and the smell of burned hair hangs in the atmosphere around him. 

Ikithon nods. "Caleb, Eodwulf, back to your rooms. Astrid, remain here." 

The screams followed them up the stairs. Caleb didn't look at Eodwulf, but he was sure that his expression was absolutely mutinous. Though skilled, Eodwulf was far too prideful to ever succeed. 

\--

Later, Caleb's door opened. Ikithon walked in, a thin sheaf of parchment in his hand. 

"Your next assignment." Ikithon put the parchment in front of Caleb, just in the center of his small desk. "You're a proper student, Caleb." 

Caleb nodded, smothering the loosening in his chest with the same stony expression. "Thank you, Master." 

Ikithon waved a hand. "Tomorrow. In the classroom, at six." 

Caleb nodded. It had been a good day. He had broken no rules, borne no punishment. He had been useful. The same did not have to hold for tomorrow. It might, though, if he tried hard enough. Ikithon could be proud of him, if he tried hard enough. 

lighting a candle with a snap of his fingers, Caleb began to sift through the parchments that Ikithon gave him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was writing this and I realized; my Caleb has Stockholm syndrome. Now, I'm going to clarify a few things about Stockholm syndrome. 1) it is NOT limited to a victim falling in love (romantically) with their abuser or captor. It is defined by professionals as a positive bond, and is possibly a form of trauma bonding. 2) This is fairly obvious, but Stockholm syndrome is a coping mechanism, not a condition. It is learned, and it can be unlearned. 3) Only 8% of people under similar conditions will develop Stockholm syndrome. 
> 
> Okay? Okay. I take my research seriously. 
> 
> Now that that's cleared up, I have something else to say! We are going through a whole bunch of story before Caleb even meets the rest of the Nein! this has a bunch of narrative reasons, but I can't tell you because Spoilers. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this whole note! Comments fuel more and better chapters!   
> Love ya, and stay safe!
> 
> \- Phoenix


	3. Word Of Mouth

Word traveled fast in a city like Zadash. From the moment the young king rode into the city on a travel worn wagon, rumors began to fly. 

"They say he's got eyes like hellfire-" 

"I heard he rode in with a party of demons-" 

"My sister says he dressed like a whore-" 

"I saw him ride by with a Fallen-"

"Remember that storm? I heard it rolled in on his heels-"

There was a marked silence from the palace. None of the demon king's party came out, no one from the city went in. All that the citizens had to trade were their rumors, leaps of reasoning, and worried sentiments. The last king had been bad enough. Would this one be any different? 

As weeks passed, the palace commissioned a stonemason to rebuild the half-ruined keep. Scaffolding went up, workmen went in, and a flurry of fresh rumors came out with them at the end of the day. 

"The only human he trusts is a disgraced monk-"

"He's hiding his demon queen inside-"

Still, none of the king's party ventured into the city. As the walls of the palace were rebuilt with local stone, the workmen came back with more curious stories. 

"A blue demon woman cast a spell on the stone. When she was done it weighed less than a pebble-"

"An Orc came out to work with us a day, kept quiet and did twice the work of a human man-"

The keep was finished before the first frost, astonishing even the finest masons. A project like that often lasted years, providing a master mason a lifetime's work. Yet, the keep stood tall and new, white granite masonry catching the sunlight. Questions and rumors mixed, as it was wondered what magic the king had at his disposal to speed such an undertaking. 

"A hidden Archmage-"

"Demon's magic-"

Summer turned to Autumn, and the harvest came. The king took no tax. The people, dreading the winter and remembering the close-fisted rulers of years past, set aside barely enough to survive. The tax collectors never came, but a strange woman came to the market for weeks at a time. Clad in blue and gold, skin the color of sunburnt earth. She bought enough to feed a castle twice over, but never took more than the people could give. 

No one starved in Zadash that winter. In the face of the cold, the rumors froze, and no one said much about the demon king. The king who took no tax so his people could eat, the king whose advisors came out to lend a hand to the workmen in their courtyard. 

Long before the ground thawed, the people warmed to the new demon king. 


	4. Spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains a graphic description of death by burning, as well as the usual implications of abuse and cruelty. Tread carefully!!
> 
> On that note, Enjoy!
> 
> \- Phoenix

Wulf was dangerous. Caleb always knew, but he never thought that it would go this far. 

Caleb had been woken before dawn by a flash of pain at the base of his throat. One of Ikithon's long-lived sparks, burning like a miniature star in the soft hollow of his throat. Ikithon himself stood over him, seething with an anger that immediately set Caleb's heart thrumming like a trapped bird. 

"You know where he's gone!" Ikithon nearly spit at him, leaning so far down that one of his medallions lay on Caleb's chest. "Tell me!"

 _Wulf._ Wulf had acted on his terrible, revolutionary ideas. Ideas that Caleb would never admit to hearing. 

"I don't know." Caleb schooled his voice into neutrality. It was no use pretending that he didn't know _who_ Ikithon was talking about; Ikithon had made an example of Wulf more than once. 

Ikithon studied him, searching for any sign of a lie. 

"Fine. Come with me." 

Ikithon swept out of the room, leaving Caleb scrambling to get his boots on. The only worse thing than Ikithon's punishment was Ikithon leaving him. With Ikithon, Caleb knew the rules. He could follow the rules. He could be _useful,_ and maybe someday, he'd be _good._

When he was alone, he was lost. 

So he pulled on his boots, grabbed his coat, and followed Ikithon outside. Rain poured down, muddying the grounds around the fine country estate. Wulf's tracks were clear, despite the spell he'd thrown behind him to deceive any possible searchers. Beyond that, Ikithon held an arcane compass in one hand. The arrow didn't point north. It pointed towards Wulf, wherever he was, no matter how far he ran. 

Ikithon and Caleb slogged through the mud, into the woods, and out into a wide swath of farmland. 

Lightning flashed. As the thunder rolled overhead, Caleb spotted a figure on the crest of the next hill. 

"Got you," Ikithon hissed. Raising a hand, he cast a paralysis spell. It was an astounding distance, but the magic landed square on Wulf's narrow shoulders, freezing him in place amongst the rain-lashed crops. 

Ikithon took his time walking up. Caleb followed, taking care to stay just behind and slightly to the right. As they approached, Caleb saw the horrified expression etched onto Wulf's face. The other boy had let his beard get away from him, and it was longer than Caleb had ever let his grow. A dark scruff almost a finger's width long, turning Wulf's static fear into a still frame of an animalistic snarl. 

Ikithon ran a finger down Wulf's throat, clearly appreciating the frantic pace of the pulse in his carotid artery. "You've made a mistake, dear boy." 

Turning, Ikithon waved Caleb forward. "Burn him."

Caleb's stomach dropped out. He didn't dare question Ikithon's order, but every part of him felt sick at the idea. 

Stalling, he managed a question. "What spell, Master?" 

Though his face and tone were flat, he was betrayed by the thickening of his accent. The Zemnian he hadn't been allowed to speak for years, struggling to make itself known. 

Ikithon glanced at him. Caleb's heart sped up, sure that he'd be the one burning for his slip, but Ikithon let it pass. 

"Pick one." 

Caleb's fingers twisted, almost of their own accord. The shield spell, perverted into an inescapable pyre. 

The heat raced through his veins, bursting from his blackening fingertips and curling like a snake around Wulf's frozen form. The rain did nothing to quench the arcane flames, instead turning to a cloud of steam. It was a small mercy. 

The fire wove into an intricate cage around Wulf, cinching tightly. 

The first thing to catch was his hair. The fire chewed through his haphazard braids, his beard, then through his skin. His ratty, too-small cloak, the one he'd come to Ikithon in as a child, caught next. His clothes went in flares of orange and red. By the time they were gone, his body was unrecognizable. 

The smell of burning flesh made Caleb sick. Wulf couldn't scream properly with his breath frozen in his lungs, but the terrible whimpering was far, far worse. It told Caleb that Wulf was still alive, though he was a raw, charred imitation of a person. 

As much as Caleb wanted to retch, to cry, to abandon the terrible deed before it was done, Ikithon was watching him like a hawk. 

Caleb kept the fire burning. The steam and smoke mixed in the driving rain. Mud crept into his boots. Caleb's own hand turned black, skin flaking away into ash. Pain burned all the way up his arm, and Caleb kept the fire burning. Ikithon's paralysis spell released, Wulf began to scream, and Caleb kept the fire burning. 

Caleb kept burning until Wulf was nothing but charred bones in the dirt, and then he burned on until Ikithon told him to stop. 

They left Wulf's bones in in the mud, leaving him to the pouring rain and the thunder, and slogged back through the woods into the dry warmth of Ikithon's house. The sun had risen on their way back, turning the world from inky black to gray. 

Caleb put his sodden boots at the foot of his bed. He stripped, changed into dry clothes, and followed the familiar route to the classroom. His boots, the only pair he owned, left a trail of muddy footprints in the cold stone halls. 


	5. Changing Winds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: This fic will be good for me! I'll get to practice incorporating tone into my writing!   
> Me after rereading ch4: Wow wow wow there's a severe tone difference to these chapters.

Spring came through Zadash. The king hosted a hundred small revolutions, turning servants to staff and vassals to free men. He opened the gates, inviting petitions and complaints alike. The people came slowly, in twos and threes, but by mayday, they came by the hundreds every day. Zadash was not a small city, but rumors flew about the strange kindness of the king.

"My brother says he remembered his name, called my brother by name-"

"He heard my cousin's complaint about the sheriffs, didn't say a word to interrupt-"

"I heard he apologized to the ones left waiting when he was called away-"

As the people warmed to the young king's unfamiliar policies, a neighboring kingdom amassed an army. They took kindness for weakness, marching on a city state that had never before posed a threat. The people of Zadash waited for the conscription, assuming armies must be met with armies. 

Instead, they saw the king and his advisors ride out to the border as the sun set to the west, the king's lavender skin turned gold by the light. 

By morning, the army was gone. The king and his company rode back, dirtied and tired, through the city, and the people cheered. 

\--

"That was pretty badass," Jester said, hopping neatly off her mount. 

"I mean, we can't do that every time an army comes to call," Fjord countered, handing his reins to Emer, who'd come out to greet them. "It's really not a sustainable plan." 

"I know," Molly said, but he couldn't contain his grin. "I suppose we'll have to raise an army one of these days. I was just so enjoying having a happy, well-fed country." 

"You know, you can't have a happy country that's been conquered, really." Jester tucked her hands behind her back, taking the steps with enormous strides. "People won't be happy if they've been conquered, you know."

"You make a good point." Molly shed his muddy coat, slinging it over an arm. "What do you all say to a bath? I'm positively filthy."

"Oh! Oh! Me first!" Jester began to jump up and down in the hall, boots grinding dirt and mud into the lavish carpet. 

Molly laughed, relief and joy mixing into a heady brew somewhere inside him. He watched Jester run off before turning to the nearest staff. 

"Would you mind having some baths prepared? Ne need to drag tubs upstairs, we can come down to the first floor." 

The staff, an older woman with neatly braided hair, bowed. "Certainly, your majesty." 

As she left, Molly shook his head. "I still can't get them to call me anything less. Can you believe it?"

Fjord rolled his eyes. "You _are_ the king." 

"A very good point." Molly nodded generously, playing his part with comfortable ease. It had been nearly a year since he was crowned, and it had turned out far better than he'd expected. His father would be turning in his grave, if he'd had one. Molly had elected to cremate his father and brother, since there had been more important things than digging graves those first few months. 

"Come on," Molly said, clapping Fjord on the shoulder. "We need a bath, both of us." 

\--

Zadash, Caduceus found, was a strange city. Mostly human, Gnome, and Halfling, but the odd Tiefling and Firbolg didn't seem unwelcome. Perhaps it had something to do with the leadership. 

Either way, Caduceus found it nice to explore without having to guard against hostile locals. He shared smiles with strangers, bought tea off a friendly Halfling street vendor, and wandered the winding, narrow streets to his heart's content. 

After an hour or so of wandering the city, he found himself at his destination. The palace. The outer wall was under construction, but the gates stood wide open. He liked that. The Wild Mother liked it too, judging by the warmth of the breeze that urged him gently forward. 

Sipping at his cooled tea, he took his place in the line of eager petitioners. 

\--

"Molly, there's someone interesting here to see you!"

Jester whispered loudly into his ear. It was a miracle that not everyone in the massive throne room heard her. 

"We are going to have to work on your whispering," he said. "How do you know there's someone special today?"

"The Traveler told me!" 

Molly had discovered over the years that listening to the Traveler usually yielded good results. However, he had set aside this time to hear complaints, and he wouldn't go back on his word. That would end in a slippery slope that led towards becoming his father.

"Are they in line?"

"He's right at the end, yeah." Jester looked so excited, leaning forward onto her toes. It was a struggle for Molly to keep one ear on the farmer before him. He was asking for the kingdom to exempt his taxes for the year, based on the blight that killed half his crop. 

Molly would have to have someone look into that. If the man was lying, he'd get no exemption. 

Molly nodded at Jester. "Why don't you and Fjord say hello? You're the most welcoming of us, I think." 

"Sure! I'll send beau to keep you company!"

Molly nodded and gave his answer to the farmer. Jester vanished behind a tapestry, Beau taking her place within a few minutes. 

The last few petitioners went by in a blur. It was easily the most tedious part of Molly's day, especially when he hadn't slept. As gratifying as assassinating an infamous general was, taking the spine out of an entire army was exhausting. 

As the last stragglers left the throne room, Beau sat on the arm of the throne. 

"I kind of wish that your people could have seen us chase that army away."

"I know," Molly said, "but then we would have run the risk of terrifying them, too."

"I know, but," Beau followed Molly as he headed for the room that Jester and Fjord liked for entertaining. "It was pretty fuckin' impressive." 

"That it was." Molly grinned back at her, moving as quickly as his long legs would carry him. "Come on! We have somebody interesting to see." 

\--

"The Wild Mother led me here." 

Caduceus had another cup of tea, and that means that these people couldn't be all bad. Even if the palace didn't have nearly enough plants. 

The green one, Fjord, leaned forward. "What do you meant by that?" 

"I believe our destinies may be... intertwined." 

The blue one, Jester, seemed to Caduceus to be the excitable sort. She bounced in her seat, looking at him like he was the most interesting thing she'd seen all day. Opening her mouth as though to say something, she's stopped by the opening of the door. 

A lavender teifling ducked inside, followed closely by a human woman in blues and golds. The purple one "Where's our important guest, Jester?"

"Molly! He's right here, and he's very charming!"

The elaborate jewelry laced around Molly's horns and through his hair sparkled in the early afternoon light. He opened an arm, and Jester ran up to his side and tucked herself there. As Jester chattered, he scanned the room. 

Caduceus stood, thinking it appropriate to show a little respect for the king. 

"Your highness," he said in his gravelly voice. 

"Ah, Hello." Molly grinned at him. "You are our guest, I assume?" 

"Yes, Majesty. Caduceus Clay, at your service." 

"Mister Clay," Molly said, waving for him to sit, "might I ask what brings you to Zadash?" 

Jester ran back to claim her seat, quiet but eager to hear. Beau shut the door and leaned against the frame, frowning, which earned her a reproachful look from Fjord. 

"I go wherever the wind blows, and the Wild Mother has led me here." 

"The Wild Mother?" 

Caduceus nodded, placing his tea carefully on an end table. "The goddess I follow, Majesty."

"Are you, perhaps, a Cleric?"

"I suppose so," Caduceus said amiably. 

"There is a position waiting," Beau said, stopping when Molly shot her a look. 

Caduceus smiled gently. "I see. The Wild Mother has sent me to aid you." 

He could see that these people needed a little gentleness. Most of them seemed a little ill at ease, as though their titles weighed on them overmuch. 

"Perhaps I could help lighten your load," he said, wondering briefly if they'd let him dig a garden in the courtyard. 

He watched them easily as they exchanged a silent conversation. 

The king, Molly, addressed him. "You may stay in the palace tonight, unless you've already found lodging for the night. We'll speak again tomorrow, if you're amiable." 

Caduceus nodded. "Thank you for your generous offer, Majesty." 

Molly waved a hand. "It's no trouble." Then to a nearby staff member, "Make sure he gets to a suitable room. Let him explore a bit as well, if he likes." 

Molly turned back to Caduceus. "I'm afraid I have much work to do, so I have to leave you in Liam's capable hands." 

"Of course, Majesty." Caduceus inclined his head, standing to follow the young man, Liam. 

As Caduceus followed Liam down the hall, he heard the sound of quiet conversation fading behind him.

\--

"He seems trustworthy to me," Jester said, swinging her legs. Beau had evicted her from the armchair nearly the moment Caduceus left, so Jester was left to sit on the folded up drawing table in the corner. 

Mollymauk, for his part, had sprawled out across the floor in front of the fireplace, doing his best to imitate a satisfied cat. 

"I don't know," he said. "A lot of people seem trustworthy."

"Yeah," said Jester, "but he seemed, like, _really_ trustworthy."

"Does the Traveler know this Wild Mother?" Beau interjected, leaning over the arm of the chair she'd stolen from Jester. 

"I think so," Jester said with a shrug, "but he doesn't really _talk_ , you know? I can ask him if you like, though."

"Please do," said Fjord. "I think it would be beneficial to have some insight on this fellow, to figure out if we can trust him."

"Well, you know, if we have a plague or something it might be _nice_ to have another healer, you know, just in case." Jester shrugged again, making it clear that she was alright either way. 

"Oh god," Molly shook his head, "don't even say that. The last thing we need is a plague."

"But, you know, if it looked like one was coming, he could totally help prevent it."

Molly laughed, half convinced by Jester's circular argument. 

"Fjord, what do you think?"

"I think we could give him a chance," Fjord said. "I hate to say this, but he doesn't seem terribly intelligent, even if he is full of goddessly influence. It would be easy to neutralize him if he ever became a threat."

Molly nodded thoughtfully. 

"Beau?"

"I don't know." She blew a lock of hair out of her face. "I just know that I can kick his skinny ass if he goes rogue."

Molly sat up, pressing his hands together. "Are we settled, then?"

Fjord shook his head. "I think we should wait for Nott and Yasha to get back, ask their opinions."

"Nott might not be back for another week, and Yasha could be even longer." Beau shrugged. "I hate to say it, but I think we have to make this call without them."

"Wait," Molly said. He looked up at his friends, the family that had stuck with him on the road and in the city. "Before we make a decision, I have a question for all of you."

Their silence said that they'd listen. Taking a breath, Molly gathered up his courage. 

"This city, this _nation_ ," he said, "isn't a lark for me. I plan on ruling for a long, long time. And," he took another deep breath, steadying his nerves, "I'd like you all, and Nott, and Yasha to rule beside me. To be honest, I don't think I'd be doing half as well without you." 

Jester's brow furrowed. Beau, too, looked a little nervous. 

"Do you want to settle in here? Have a title, a job, a sphere of control that you can take responsibility for? If so, it's yours, but I'd like to give it to you now. I don't think we should go on in this haphazard sort of way." 

Fjord opened his mouth, but Molly held up a hand. "Let me finish, Fjord. Please." 

Fjord nodded, sitting back to give Molly the time he needed. 

"If you want to go back to a life of adventure, I won't stop you. You'll always have a room here and a seat at my table," Molly said, squeezing his eyes shut. "But I'm asking you to stay." 

The fire crackled in the grate behind him. Molly was almost scared to open his eyes and see the answers written on his friend's faces. 

Jester threw herself into Molly's arms. "We're not going anywhere, stupid!"

"How could you think we would?" 

Molly could almost hear Fjord shake his head in exasperation. 

Beau walked over just to punch him. "You absolute dumbass. Why did you think we're still here with you after a _year_ of doing administrative shit?"

"Jester.... Can I.... Breathe... Please?"

"Oh! Sorry," she said, letting go of him. "I can't believe you thought we were just messing around with you here. We love Zadash too, you know!" 

"I thought you-"

"Look, it's no Nicodranas, but it's really cool here! The people are so nice, and we can make a real difference!"

Molly nearly started crying right there. He swatted at Beau's hands. "How dare you! You'll make me cry, and then my makeup will run." 

"You deserve it, you idiot." Beau flipped him off, then retreated to her stolen chair. 

"Okay though," Jester said, still firmly in Molly's lap, "what are we going to do about Caduceus?"

"Let's give him a chance. Six months, unless he does something to warrant an inquisition. Then we can talk about it more," Molly offered. "Sound good?"

"Sounds good!" Jester clambered out of his lap and began to fish around in her pockets. 

"Sounds good to me," said Fjord. 

"Sounds good," said Beau, standing and stretching out. "Now come on, we have more work to do."

Molly picked himself up off the rug. "No rest for the wicked," he said. 

They left, heading to finish the day's work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG MAY HE REIGN  
> Okay now that that's out of my system, wow! thank you guys for all of your amazing comments, and thanks for continuing to read!   
> In case anyone hasn't discovered this yet, there are CHARACTER PLAYLISTS made BY THE PLAYERS FOR THEIR CHARACTERS!!  
> All of them are so good! There's even one for Matt! Go find them!! 
> 
> Jester's voice is So Clear in my head thank you Laura Bailey 
> 
> \- Phoenix


	6. Skin And Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains a graphic description of... violence. Just... yeah. Consider yourselves warned.

Astrid was only better than him at one thing. Dancing. Caleb struggled to make his body obey the music, but Astrid seemed to know it in her very bones. Ikithon had told them that if they were to be _useful_ , they had to learn all the necessary skills to function in a court. And so, in lieu of the spells at which Caleb excelled, Ikithon had given them an assignment that expertly revealed his failings. 

Since Wulf, Caleb had slept only when his body forced him to. It made him good at magic, all that extra time to study, but it made him clumsier than ever on his feet. Ikithon taught with punishment, and so Caleb had amassed a mantle of long burning sparks across his shoulders. He had constellations of them across his cheekbones, nose, and forearms. Every time he missed a step, a star was born and burned into his skin. He glowed with them in the cavernous stone room. 

"Again," Master Ikithon had said, smoke trailing from his fingertips. 

Caleb tripped. 

"Again."

Caleb missed a beat. 

"Again."

Caleb tripped Astrid by accident. 

"Again."

Caleb tripped Astrid on purpose. 

"Again."

Finally, Ikithon had grown tired of the game. He killed the stars in Caleb's skin, but beckoned him up the stairs. Astrid was left alone to drift through the steps without a partner, told to keep practicing.

When Master Ikithon's door opened, Caleb followed him in. Caleb knew better than to run. He _knew._

Why then, did he shake so hard? Why did he feel closer to collapse with every step?

Ikithon's office was not a place Caleb saw often. Many of the memories he had of it were fuzzy, indistinct but for the memory of pain. This time, Caleb didn't want to look. He felt weak, sick like he hadn't felt since -- since W _ulf._ Months now, almost a year, since Wulf had died at his hand.

Ikithon stood before him, studying him, considering him. 

"Take your shirt off." 

Shaking, Caleb obeyed. 

"We may as well make use of our time," Ikithon said, retrieving a green crystal from his desk. It had clearly been broken and mended many times over, fractures running all through the milky stone. 

"Arms forward." 

Caleb held his arms forward, the soft, pale side turned up. 

The crystal in Ikithon's hand began to levitate. As Caleb watched, it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, each one sharp and glittering in the candlelight. Each piece turned toward Caleb like a thousand compasses turning due north. 

The first ten sliced into his wrists, five to each. They dug under the skin, drinking the magic out of him. A human, Ikithon said, was an infinite source of magical energy. It kept replenishing each time it was drained, onward unto infinity. It didn't matter, he'd discovered, whether the human in question was casting spells or getting drained into some other reserve.

Ikithon sat in his chair, across the desk. Caleb fought to remain standing. 

The next ten shards sliced through the soft skin of his forearms. It was a slow, torturous process. Blood dripped onto the carpet, and Caleb kept his eyes open. Ikithon had gotten to the sixth layer before, each time pushing Caleb further. 

The next ten dug into the insides of his elbows. He nearly buckled under it, but he was less than halfway through his expected task. 

Ten shards went into his biceps, distending the skin until his arms were mottled with bruising. 

Ten shards went into his shoulders, along the soft hollows inside his collarbone. 

Twenty shards cut into his chest, swirled smoothly around his heart. This one was the least painful, since his chest already bore so many other scars. 

Thirty shards dug into the skin over his ribs, nearly scraping over the bone. He had never been big, but at Ikithon's house he'd lost nearly half his bodyweight.

Thirty shards burrowed into the soft of his belly. This was the worst part. Every time, he feared that Ikithon would slip for half a second, and one of the shards would bury itself irreparably into his gut. That he would die on Ikithon's carpet, Ikithon taking notes the whole while. 

Ikithon watched Caleb. Watched him breathe, bleed, stand, keep his eyes open and fixed on the wall. Without looking at his hand, he took notes onto a neat sheaf of parchment.

Caleb glittered with the shards, candlelight reflecting off of him in a thousand tiny parts. Blood dripped down his arms and chest, staining the waistband of his pants and dripping onto the carpet in deceptively pretty ruby drops. Ikithon still watched. 

After what seemed an age, the shards began to withdraw from Caleb's body in the same agonizing pattern that they'd gone in. Ten from his wrists. Ten from his forearms. It went on and on until Caleb nearly passed out from blood loss. 

The shards that pieced themselves back together were nearly white, opaque with magical energy. When Ikithon had started more than a year ago, the crystal had been clear as glass. 

Putting the crystal away, Ikithon slid his notes into a thick folder. Then he refocused on Caleb, who shook with the effort of keeping his arms aloft. 

"Put your arms down." Ikithon stood, coming around his desk towards Caleb. "Do you know what you did?"

Caleb nodded. 

Ikithon lit a star against the hollow of Calebs throat. "Words, boy." 

Caleb gasped involuntarily, but he managed to keep his hands at his sides. "I failed."

"That... is correct." Ikithon extinguished the spark. "Failure is not tolerated. Do you understand."

Caleb nodded. Ikithon raised a finger.

Caleb gasped. "Yes, I understand." 

"Good."

Caleb felt a sob rise to choke him. _Good._ He had been _good._ That scrap of praise nearly made it all worthwhile. 

"Clean this up."

Ikithon swept out of the room. 

With shaking hands, Caleb knelt. A simple twist of the fingers, an incantation, and the carpet would be clean. But Caleb stuttered over the words, and his hands shook too badly to form the shape. He tried again and again, each time scraping for the last of his energy. 

Finally, he steeled his will enough to cast the simple spell. His blood evaporated out of the carpet, and Caleb stumbled to his feet. He grabbed his shirt, pulled it on over the layer of dried blood crusted to his skin. 

Then he left Ikithon's office, closing the door quietly behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof. Uh.... I'm really sorry. Yeah.  
> pls comment, each one makes me feel less guilty for this chapter. 
> 
> \- Phoenix


	7. Mint and Chamomile

"Jester just had to say the word _plague,_ didn't she?"

Fjord shrugged helplessly. "I mean..."

Molly shook his head, jewelry jangling against itself. "It's a good thing Caduceus came along when he did. I don't think Jester could handle it on her own."

As they walked, staff rushed past, carrying baskets and crates of supplies out to the courtyard. 

"I wish there was something we could do," said Fjord. 

"The best that you and I can do is not get sick," Molly said. "Caduceus and Jester can handle it, and Jester is perfectly capable of keeping an eye on our newest recruit."

Fjord held the door to the office they'd converted into a sort of war room. 

"Thank you, Fjord."

Fjord followed Molly into the room, immediately sifting through a collection of parchments spread across the table. 

Molly sat at the table, slicing open a fresh envelope and scanning the contents. "How do we keep this from ruining the kingdom?"

Fjord pushed a hand through his hair. "Honestly? I have no idea."

"We could close the gates," Molly said, "keep it inside the city."

"That would keep the farmland safe, but how would we get supplies in?" 

"Do you think Jester and Caduceus can eradicate it before it spreads outside the palace?"

Fjord shook his head. "Chances are it's already all through the city." 

"Then we have to shut everything down, give Jes and Caduceus a chance to clear it out." 

"Are there any more Clerics or Healers in the city?"

"There are some Healers, but Jes and Caduceus are the only Clerics for for miles." Molly dropped the parchment back onto the table. "Maybe we should call some Healers in, let Jes and Caduceus clear out the city and surrounding area before the palace." 

"That sounds like a good idea." Fjord said. "Should I put out a summons for Healers?" 

"Yes," Molly said. "As soon as possible, Fjord. Thank you. I'll go talk to Jes and Caduceus." 

Molly stood, passing Fjord a quill and inkwell on his way by. 

"Thanks," said Fjord. 

"Certainly," said Molly. "I'll let you know what Jester and Caduceus think."

Fjord waved farewell absently, already writing.

\--

It was quite lucky, Caduceus thought, that he'd arrived when he did. Barely a month into his stay at Zadash, an outbreak of a strange illness turned the palace courtyard into a makeshift hospital. Staff, nobles, and visitors alike filled every spare bed inside the palace and every pallet set up outside. 

Caduceus, for his part, wove his way among the beds, doing what he could. A number of the ill only needed some time, good tea, and a friendly face to get through the worst of it. Others needed more magic than he could readily offer, and for those he had to call Jester over to help. She was more powerful than he, quicker and neater with the spells. Despite that, he liked the gentle, warm quality of his own work. 

Caduceus found that their magics mixed quite nicely, even if he wouldn't have thought so at the outset. Like Mint and Chamomile, perhaps. A strange, pleasant blend of sharp and sweet. 

Every few hours, they were able to send another patient out, fully healed, under orders to stay clear of everyone for a day or two. It the kind of work that Caduceus liked. Steady, careful work. The sun moved steadily across the sky, and Caduceus kept one eye on Jester, and they worked. 

As the sunset bloomed across the western sky, Caduceus spotted Fjord waving them over from the other side of the courtyard. 

"Sorry," Fjord said as they approached. "I would have come and spoken to you directly, but-"

"It's good that you called us over to you," Jester interrupted, untucking her trailing sleeves from her belt. "We wouldn't want you getting sick!"

"Yeah," Fjord agreed absently. "Have you guys seen Molly? He said he'd come back after he talked to you."

Jester looked at Caduceus. "We haven't seen him all day."

Before any of them could speak further, a scuffle at the front gate drew their attention. The guards had converged around a tall person, holding them back and shouting warnings about illness and contagion. As Caduceus watched, a small, dark figure slipped between the guards and darted up to them. 

"Nott!" Jester picked up the tiny goblin and hugged her. "You're back! There's so much going on, there's a plague, and threats from Rexxentrum, and nobody's seen Molly for most of the day!"

"Not," Fjord hissed, glancing around, "so loud. We don't want to deal with what happens when rumors start flying."

"Well," Nott said, still held tightly in Jester's arms, "that's Yasha the guards are holding up, so I thought you'd be able to help."

"Okay, well-"

Fjord cut himself off, and Caduceus spotted the reason he'd stopped. A woman in blue and gold stalked along the edge of the courtyard, headed right for the gate. It was obviously Beau, even from such a distance, and she looked quite upset. 

With a couple of well placed elbows, Beau broke up the commotion and grabbed Yasha. She then made a beeline for the rest of the group. 

"Yasha's back," she said unnecessarily. 

"Okay, everybody come inside." Fjord said, opening the door. "We have a problem." 

\--

They walked in a tense silence, following Nott to the makeshift war room that Molly favored. Once they'd all filed inside, Fjord had shut the door. 

Yasha spoke first, searching for context. "What's going on?"

Fjord sighed, moving deeper into the room. "I haven't seen Molly since this morning, and neither have Jester or Caduceus. You and Nott were gone until now," he waved a hand, turning to Beau. "Have you seen Molly today?"

Beau shrugged, seeming to miss the weight with which Fjord asked. "I haven't seen him since breakfast."

Fjord let out a breath. "He's probably in his room or something, right?" 

"I'll go check," Nott said, slipping out of the room. 

It was silent until she returned. Yasha seemed to gather a dark cloud of impatience, and everyone but Beau shied away a little. 

Nott returned. "He's not in his room, or anywhere inside the walls."

The tension let out of Fjord's shoulders. "He's just _gone?"_

Nott shrugged, at a loss. "It appears so."

"Okay." Fjord stood, spreading his hands. "Okay. Yasha, do you have anything?"

"Not much. Rexxentrum is eyeing our borders, but you seem to know that already. Nothing else in the way of information." After a moment's thought, she added, "I didn't see Molly anywhere in the city, and I think rumors would be flying if anyone had."

Jester looked like a child, wide eyed and only a moment from tears. "So Molly is really gone?"

Beau looked over, brow furrowed. "He wouldn't just vanish. Something has to have happened." 

"Until we figure out what's going on, it might be better to assume so." Yasha 

"Okay," Fjord said. "We're going to keep this on the down low, okay? If Rexxentrum gets wind of this, they'll be on our asses in a second."

Yasha sat down on the table. The rest of them looked to Fjord, deferring leadership to him in Molly's marked absence. 

Fjord did his best to keep his voice under control. "Jester, Molly was going to ask you and Caduceus to trade off with some healers, clear out the city before the sickness spreads too far. While you do that, would you keep an eye out for Molly?"

"Of course!"

"Yasha, next time you go out, make sure that you look out for Molly. Until we have an idea where he went, we need to keep all eyes peeled." 

Yasha nodded. 

"Nott, I want you to look for Molly. Whatever you have to do, we need to find him."

Nott nodded, leaning forward onto the table between her and Fjord. "What are you going to do?"

Fjord's shape shimmered, fading from green to purple. A set of fine ram's horns grew from his head, and jewelry strung itself through his hair.

"I'm going to be Molly for a little while," he said, doing his best to mimic his friend's voice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: you know what's a great idea to narratively demonstrate M9's effectiveness as rulers and cause a big enough mess to cover this plot point? A Plague.   
> Also me: that's a terrible idea given current events and you know it  
> Me: PLAGUE
> 
> I promise that I'll write Jester's POV soon, since Molly's will be... suspended for a while.


	8. Warning Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to let you guys stew in Molly's disappearance, but here you go.  
> *puts chapter in the middle of table, covering the CR logo*  
> Have fun. 
> 
> Oh also, someone please explain campaign 1 to me before I really make a mistake. Vox Machina might get involved (eventually).
> 
> WARNING: mild description of severe starvation and malnutrition. Also, self harm.

Astrid was gone. She'd gone with Ikithon over the mountains, all the way to the capital of Taldori, and only Ikithon had come back. 

Caleb had been left alone, and it had been far worse than any time Ikithon was home. The servants' eyes passed blankly over him, and even though he knew that it was right, it was terrible to be forgotten. Ikithon had told him to stay out of the way, so he stayed in his room. He studied the spells that Ikithon had left, struggling more the longer Ikithon was gone. In a house full of people, Caleb was alone and starving. 

For the first day or two, he had been alright. Then, three days after Ikithon left, he found dizziness threatening to knock him over. His hands shook over the spell. 

For the two weeks that Ikithon was gone, Caleb forced himself to focus through the black hole inside his body. He lost fat and muscle mass, until it seemed that his shape was defined only by his bones and his scars. He always felt cold, lighting up the shield spell just to keep himself warm. 

The day he came back, Ikithon woke Caleb with a spark lit in the soft hollow of his throat. 

At the sight of Ikithon leaned over him, relief flooded through Caleb like adrenaline. Ikithon was back, and he didn't have to be alone anymore. He would have the chance to be _good._

"Get packed. We're leaving." 

"Yes, Master."

Caleb scrambled into his clothes. There wasn't much to pack, but he'd clearly slept far longer than he should have. 

He dropped his books into a bag, his few spare clothes taking the last of the space. He pulled his boots on, wrestled his hair into submission, and tried not to think too hard about how angry Ikithon would be that he hadn't shaved. 

On the lawn, Ikithon stood before his teleportation circle, the arcane shape set into the grass in white stone. 

"A pity," Ikithon said, and turned his attention to the pair of horses that waited at the gate. "I trust you remember your lessons?"

"Yes," Caleb said, uncomfortable in the only jacket he owned. It had been more than a year since he'd worn it; the last time, it had ended up soaked in rain and Wulf's ashes. 

"Mount," Ikithon said, and Caleb obeyed. The horse shifted beneath him. 

Ikithon climbed onto his own mount and kicked the horse into a loose canter. 

Caleb kept his eyes on Ikithon's back. He kept himself on the horse by force of will alone, dizzy and faint with hunger as he was. Ikithon had neglected to have him eat before they left, and his body was close to giving out. 

The horse's every step jarred his bones. Caleb couldn't quite get into the rhythm of it, but unlike the music, Caleb could make it through this if he kept his head down and his eyes on Ikithon. 

Ikithon didn't want to stop, so Caleb tried to remain steady. It was a losing battle, but every time his vision darkened, he lit a spark of his own against the inside of his wrist. His head ached. He felt sick with hunger, and knew that no matter how much he wanted to, he might not be _able_ to eat. 

Dusk darkened to night, and the stars lit against the skin of the sky. Caleb kept a miniature star burning against his skin, keeping himself awake. 

Deep into the night, Caleb burned the last of his energy. His vision finally went fully dark, and he was gone before he hit the ground. 


	9. Absences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT SONG FROM MOANA IS ON FJORD'S OFFICIAL PLAYLIST MY LIFE IS COMPLETE  
> anyway, there are no warnings for this chapter! Enjoy.

Fjord was starting to worry that Molly was gone for good. It wasn't difficult to play his part, but it wore on him a little more each day. Since Jester and Caduceus, with the help of some fifty Healers from in and around the city, had stopped the plague in its tracks, Fjord's job had only gotten easier. No one looked too hard at a king that averted disaster after disaster, even if he acted just a little shady at the top of every hour. 

Fjord didn't like wearing the spell. Molly was shorter and narrower than him, so people constantly kept their eyes somewhere around his collar, and he was always narrowly avoiding shoulder-checking people who couldn't see his actual mass. 

People were also starting to wonder where Fjord himself was, and having to offer excuses for his own perceived absence made him feel a curious shade of invisible. Jester did her best to cheer him up, but there were really only so many dick jokes that he was comfortable with. He missed Molly. Molly's infinite good humor, his quick wit. Even the brief, friendly kisses that had made Fjord so uncomfortable when they first met. 

Nott, Yasha, and Beau had all left to search for Molly in earnest, sweeping the countryside for weeks at a time. Caduceus barely knew what was going on, aside from the fact that Molly had vanished and they were all keeping it quiet. There was no one else inside the lie. 

Fjord's anxiety mounted every day. If they found Molly, would he be the same? What had happened to him? The same two questions kept him up at night, and then even Jester couldn't help him. He was sure the court would catch on soon. Without Molly, Zadash would soon fall apart. 

\--

Jester did her best to help Fjord, but it was hard when he went around pretending that he wasn't upset. He put on a brave face, and pretended for everyone around him. She really didn't like that. It made her sad. 

She missed Molly. Everyone else was nice, but her teifling friend was special. She missed the way he'd gently knock on her horns, or give her a friendly tap with his tail. No one else was like Molly, and she really, really missed him. Even his weird habit of kissing his friends on the head, cheeks, hands. 

She wanted him back. 

\--

As hard as she looked, Nott couldn't find a trace of Molly. She searched the countryside around Zadash for weeks at a time, but all she found was empty farmland. That and the shallow graves of the sick that Jester and Caduceus hadn't gotten to in time. 

She wondered, every time she saw one, if Molly had found his own way into the ground. She never looked at them for very long. 

Molly couldn't have been dead. He was one of the few who treated her as more than just a Goblin. He valued her, knew how to utilize her skills, but it was more than that. Molly trusted her, and cared about her, no matter how little she deserved either. It was painfully obvious. 

She cared about him, too. And that was why she'd find him if it was the last thing she did. 

\--

Beau was happiest when she had a mission, but this mission was nothing but painful. Combing through every inch of the kingdom was a thankless task. It didn't help that half her brain was occupied with worrying about the very person she was looking for. 

When she'd asked to be Captain of the Guard, all she'd wanted was to protect the family she'd chosen. How could she do that if they were vanishing under her nose in the midst of a crisis? How could she know that they wouldn't all vanish?

_Molly,_ she had to remind herself, a hundred times over. _Molly._  


It didn't take much. just his name, the reminder that his face was fading from her memory. She could no longer recall the intricacies of his tattoos, remember how laughter turned his eyes from hellfire to a hearth. 

She missed Molly's kisses. The _I'm here_ of a kiss to her hair, the _be safe_ of a kiss to her cheek. The gentle _I love you_ of a kiss to her forehead. She'd categorized each one and counted the silent promises, and now she was coming to call. 

_Come back, you bastard._   



	10. Anchor

Caleb felt like a corpse. A headache pounded in his temples, grit stuck his eyelids closed. He wasn't even hungry anymore.

He should be grateful that he only _felt_ like death, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything beyond the pit in his chest. He'd been very, very close to dying outright. 

Caleb almost wished he had. 

Not that it mattered. Ikithon would dig his body out of the ground if he could get some use from it, and that meant that there would be no end in sight. Not for a long, long time. 

Caleb peeled his eyes open, fighting his exhaustion the whole way. 

Ikithon stood over him. There was no spark burning against his skin, just the sun's warm, ruthless light. That, and Ikithon's burning, calculating gaze. 

When Ikithon's hand extended, Caleb couldn't conceal how he flinched away. Fear dropped through him, cold and slick. Ikithon had never stood for displays of weakness, no matter how slight. Every old scar on his body ached, reminding him of every broken rule, every mistake. Every time, he'd promised never to do so again, and every time, he'd failed. 

Impatient, Ikithon grabbed his hand and hauled him into a sitting position. 

A cloth, knotted closed around its contents, dropped into his lap. 

"Eat." 

Fumbling with the knots, Caleb nearly tore open the small bundle. An apple, bread, and cheese lay in his lap. The bread was at least a day old, but it was still more than he'd eaten in nearly two weeks. 

The second he was finished, his body screamed for more. Caleb ignored it. He'd be grateful for what Ikithon had given him, even if he didn't deserve it. 

Ikithon stood over him, eating an apple of his own. 

"Thank you," said Caleb, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. 

"Your training under me is done," said Ikithon. "You will serve at Zadash, and obey your master there."

Caleb felt dizzy. His anchor had dropped away, and he was drifting across the sea unmoored. Without sail, without oars, alone on the deck and at the mercy of any current that would catch him. 

"Yes, Master," Caleb said, because Ikithon had taught him to. 

"Good. Drink."

Ikithon dropped a waterskin beside him, and Caleb drank the lukewarm water until he thought he'd burst. 

"Get up."

Caleb stood, and compensated for the dizzy sway of his body. 

Ikithon mounted, and Caleb followed. They set to riding, and Caleb held on tight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, after writing this chapter: fuck, I have to update the tags again.  
> What did I add after this one? let's see... *counts on fingers* Suicidal Ideation, Starvation... is Abuse already on there? Yeah. Okay.


	11. Sunlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags added because of this chapter: Amnesia.   
> No warnings!

He woke, every breath dragging clumps of earth into his lungs. He was pinned down, unable to move his hands, legs, or tail. The darkness was complete. 

Panic spiraled inside his body, quickening his breath and his heart until his lungs burned and he sputtered around the soil pressed to his face. All he knew was blind, all-encompassing fear. He thrashed in his tiny space, clawing through soft dirt and weeds until his hands broke the surface.

His head and shoulders followed, and he was sitting up in a shallow grave dug into a hillside. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he pushed his purple fingers through the dark, damp earth. It felt good on his skin. The fear began to fade as the sunlight lay softly across his shoulders. 

Picturesque farmland rolled away before him, a glittering city of spires rising in the distance. Behind him, rows of the same kind of grave. 

As soon as he saw them, he climbed out of the ground fully and dug into an unbroken one. No one deserved to wake the way he had. He dug with his hands for lack of any tools, and dirt soon caked beneath his nails, dark as blood in the creases of his lavender skin. His fingertips went numb in the cold earth. 

He dug until he found the fabric of a shirt, and then he dug until he cleared away the face. 

He reeled back, heart pounding. The man in the grave was not asleep, and wouldn't be waking up. He hadn't known what death looked like, but now he was sure he could never forget. A face all swollen and pale, skin flaking like pastry. Eyes of milky glass, seeing nothing. Skin so cold and stiff he wouldn't have recognized it as skin. 

As quickly as he could, he got up and started walking. In the fog that drifted through his brain, the image of the dead man's face was stark and unshakable, and he just wanted to get away from it. 

As he walked, his heart slowed. The sky was blue, laced with cottony thin clouds. For some reason buried deep inside him, that shade of blue made his heart ache. His bare feet pressed into the sun-warmed earth, hands tracing the tops of the grain. A field of golden stalks nearly up to his waist, the sticky edges of the leaves catching on the loose fabric of his pants. 

The city across the fields caught the sunlight, reflecting it blindly back at him. 

A voice called from somewhere behind him. Not from the hill where he'd started, but further off into the fields. He turned, looking for the source of the sound. 

Something small rushed through the crops, headed right for him. 

A very small person hit his legs, wrapping their arms tight around him. 

"Molly! I found you!"

They sounded close to crying. A little girl, maybe? Her dark hood was pulled up over her head, so all he could see was the dark shape of her head pressed to his leg. 

He stood there, wondering what to do. If he thought too hard about who she could be, a fog drifted though his mind. He couldn't pinpoint a single memory of anything, let alone of tiny person who seemed so unwilling to let go of him. 

"I'm sorry," he said, keeping his hands suspended away from his body. "Who are you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: maybe this chapter is cruel  
> also me: it totally is. Do it.   
> Me: is this a bad idea?  
> also me: yes.   
> also me: Post It Anyway.   
> Me: how can I say no?
> 
> *hideous authorial laughter*


	12. Major and Minor Arcana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally read the Wiki on Exandria. Do I feel more confident in my setting? No.

Rest came with pain. Caleb had been about to collapse from the bruising journey, but he knew better than to expect rest when Ikithon stopped them in a shabby town just inside the border.

He had been right. Rest came in the form of a shabby cot in a shabby house, a severe half-elf meticulously tattooing the center of his back, just above his shoulder blades. Ikithon stood over them both, but said nothing other than to make corrections to the design. From what Caleb could tell, it was a sigil of some kind. Something looping and smooth, lined with runes. That was all he'd been able to see on the parchment before Ikithon had told him to lay down. 

The tattoo was surprisingly gentle. A hundred pinpricks no more painful than Astrid's hands on him when they'd danced, so many months ago. 

Astrid had gone, he reminded himself, to a new master in Tal'Dorei. He might as well be grateful that he'd remained on the same continent, though he'd never see her again. 

When Caleb's tattoo was finished, Ikithon dropped a handful of coin on the table and left. Caleb followed, eyes on Ikithon's heels. His back prickled. 

They slept at an Inn that night, though Ikithon scoffed at the quality. It was a shabby border town, and the Inn was equally shabby, but Ikithon knew what he was doing. Caleb knew that, if he knew nothing else. 

\--

Within another day's ride, Zadash rose on the horizon. It was a city of glittering spires, small towns and farmland spreading for miles around. 

"Little more than a city state," Ikithon said scornfully. "But..." 

He didn't finish, and Caleb knew better than to ask. Questions weren't tolerated. He did wonder, though, what that glittering city would ask of him.

The road to Zadash was winding, but Ikithon followed it. It wouldn't do to damage crops, even if he was delivering a gift. The road was thick with people, horses and ox-drawn wagons. Most headed the same direction as they did, but plenty moved towards the farmland and the border. 

Ikithon and Caleb passed through the city gates without trouble, finding the main thoroughfare without much more. Zadash was tall and narrow, but the pale spires of the palace were visible from anywhere in the city. 

They were stopped at the palace gates. 

"What's your business?"

"Diplomacy from Rexxentrum," said Ikithon, handing over a sealed letter. 

The guard opened it, read it, and passed it to his partner. 

The second guard spoke, passing the parchment back to Ikithon. "Everything seems in order. Go ahead."

"Thank you," said Ikithon, and only Caleb could hear the venom seething beneath. 

The palace at Zadash was lovely. White granite that caught the sunlight, spires tall enough to be seen anywhere in the city. The windows were tall and wide, the courtyard full of fruit trees. A Firbolg with a fall of soft pink hair tended them, though he was wearing finer clothes than Caleb thought a servant would. 

Ikithon handed off his reins to the first servant who appeared, and motioned for Caleb to do the same. Then Ikithon swept into the main keep like he owned it. Caleb followed. 

He wasn't ready to be left alone again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me in the last Caleb chapter: Taldori??  
> The Wiki: Tal'Dorei  
> Me: Oh my god


	13. Seven Shades Of Blue

Nott had to fight to keep her tears at bay as she led Mollymauk back to the palace. After weeks of searching, she'd found him in a wheat field, caked in fresh earth. And, apparently, without a single coherent memory in his head. He could still speak, could still identify things and act as any grown person might, but he wasn't _Molly._ Someone else had apparently climbed out of the ground in his place. 

At least she'd found him. 

He followed quietly, carefully holding her tiny goblin hand in his long-fingered purple one. He was almost like a child trailing behind her, gently curled hair left uncharacteristically loose and blowing in the wind, red eyes curious and warm. 

She couldn't look at him for long. 

\--

There was only one way into the palace. At least, there was one way that most people knew of. Nott had discovered, sometime in their first year in Zadash, a network of corridors that ran through a section of the outer wall and under the courtyard, coming out into various shadowy places inside the palace proper. Beau had immediately bricked up half of them with her own hands, but she had left Nott a single, winding passage through the many dead ends. 

Nott liked the maze. She'd marked her passage with a series of chalk shapes, and she changed them every time she went through. One week, a blue triangle might lead the right way, but the next it would lead to a dead end. 

She was very proud of her own little system. A secure way in and out of the palace, safely out of sight. 

Molly and she came out of the passage behind a tapestry in the war room. Since Molly's disappearance, it had been converted properly. The comfortable couches and chairs cleared out to make room for a larger table, sound absorbing curtains and tapestries to keep plans from escaping into unwanted ears. A proper lock had been installed, though a number of documents always lay scattered on the table. 

Nott poked her head out from behind the curtain, waving frantically to Fjord, Jester, and Beau, who sat together at the far side of the table. 

"Nott," Beau said, standing. "You're back." 

She sounded tired. Judging from the rings around her eyes and the downturn to her mouth, she was. 

Nott almost felt bad for introducing the whole new batch of worries that still held onto her hand. Almost. 

"Stay here a moment," she said to Molly, who nodded silently, eyes bright with curiosity. 

"I have good news and bad news," Nott said, climbing onto a chair. 

"Better than what I brought back," Beau said. 

Fjord and Jester put aside what they were doing. When Nott looked like that, it was time to pay attention. 

"The good news is that I found Molly." 

Fjord stood up so fast that his chair fell over. "You _found_ him?"

Jester nearly began to cry, eyes wide and disbelieving. 

Beau froze in place, shock dropping clean through her like a brick. 

"The bad news," Nott said, stopping Fjord and Jester with a raised hand, "is that he's... Well-" she sighed, unwilling to say it out loud "- why don't you see for yourselves." 

She hopped down and vanished behind the tapestry again, drawing Molly, still covered in dirt and wearing only a plain set of pants and a shirt, back out by the hand. 

"Molly?" Jester sounded weak, like she couldn't believe that Molly was standing in front of her after he'd been gone for so many weeks. 

Molly shook his head, confusion gathering on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, in his painfully familiar voice. "I don't know who Molly is." 

\--

When it became clear that Molly wasn't playing a cruel game, they'd set him up with a bath and told Caduceus to keep an eye on him. 

Fjord should have expected something to happen. Not like this, though. This was almost the worst possible outcome, but Fjord was prepared to play optimist, even if he didn't much feel like it. 

"At least he isn't dead," he said into the silent room. 

"He might as well be!" Beau's face was streaked with tears that had, until then, been quiet. "He's gone! You can't strip someone's memory bare and call them the same!" 

She buried her face in Yasha's shoulder, who began to murmur soothingly as Beau cried. 

Nott just lay on the table, head in her arms, clearly unwilling to offer even the slightest comfort. As many questions as Fjord had for Nott, he knew when to let her be. 

He almost felt like crying himself, but _someone_ had to run the kingdom. He'd take his turn when one of the others had it together. 

"I'll keep up the facade, give us a little time to figure out how to help him." Fjord didn't really want to keep pretending to be Molly, especially when Molly was in the palace with them. 

It would end badly, he could just tell, but it was their only option that didn't destabilize the kingdom as a whole. Who was Fjord to say no, especially when he'd come up with the plan in the first place?

There was a knock on the door. As quickly as he could, Fjord threw on his likeness of Molly. It felt wrong, like he was cheating or lying his way out of an uncomfortable truth. 

A messenger at the door offered him a note. "Diplomatic party from Rexxentrum, your Majesty."

"Thank you, Sefre." While he spoke, his voice broke without warning, but the messenger girl didn't bat an eye. With a quick bow, she ran off back down the hall. 

Fjord dropped his disguise as soon as he closed the door, reading over the note absently. It was an odd one, but he had never quite gotten used to the shorthand. 

He left the note on the table as he gathered up his friends. 

_Archmage Trent Ikithon, bearing gift._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: having amnesia wear off is cheap. You have to make them work for the gratification!!  
> also me: BUT IT HURTS  
> Me: Oh well. You Absolutely Will Not Flake Out On This One.  
> also me: *vague sounds of death and dismemberment*


	14. Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: the tags say "borderline" human trafficking, but that's being really generous. It's only "borderline" because I'm a coward.  
> Yeah. Have fun with this one.

Ikithon was growing impatient. Caleb waited, just behind and slightly to the right, ignoring the hollow in his stomach. The king had seemingly decided to keep them waiting, and Caleb was curious, briefly. He quashed it. 

Before Caleb's mind could lead him down another dangerous path, the king appeared. He was a handsome teifling, soft purple but for his eyes, hair, and horns, which were strung with jewelry in place of a crown. His eyes were hellfire red. 

"Apologies," said the king, taking his seat on the throne. "I didn't intend to keep you waiting." 

Ikithon dropped to his knees. Caleb followed suit. 

"No apology necessary, your Majesty." Ikithon's voice had taken on an oily quality. Caleb kept his gaze on the carpet before him. 

"Either way," said the king, dismissing Ikithon's words easily. "What's this I hear about diplomacy from Rexxentrum?"

Ikithon played the game, and Caleb listened. The king had disrespected Ikithon, but that was his right. 

"My name is Trent Ikithon, your Majesty. I have come from Rexxentrum to offer a gift in the name of peace between our nations."

Caleb didn't dare raise his head, but he let his gaze wander. He could see most of the king's expression, and Ikithon's. Silently, he watched. 

"I see." A soft smile played about the edges of the king's mouth. "I would be happy to have a peace agreement written up."

"Your Majesty misunderstands," Ikithon said in his oily tone. "I offer a gift in good faith, not out of expectation."

The king's brow furrowed for just a moment. "Ah. Well, we would be grateful for a token of peace-" a small grin showed the king's sharp teeth "-whether or not the peace is forthcoming."

Ikithon's mouth narrowed slightly. Caleb held himself against the urge to shy away. What implication showed that Ikithon was hostile? None that Caleb could see. It was a show of trust to give gifts without contract. 

"Of course," Ikithon said, tone cooling slightly. 

The king leaned back, relaxing into the game. "Might I ask what this gift is to be?"

Ikithon opened a hand, gesturing towards Caleb. "A mage, trained under me for sixteen years."

The king looked taken aback. 

"I had... wondered about your companion," the king said. As far as Caleb could tell, the king's fiery eyes had landed on him. It felt like all the air had been stolen from his lungs. 

Briefly, Caleb imagined his breath twining like a snake around the king's elegant hand, the king holding it like a precious thing. 

He dropped his gaze back to the carpet. Looking up had been dangerous, and he'd deserve whatever punishment it incurred. 

"He will serve you well. would you like a demonstration?"

Ikithon took the king's silence as a yes. 

"Caleb." 

"Yes, Master."

"Summon a rainfall." 

Caleb's fingers twitched. A droplet of sweat gathered in his palm, and it was enough to summon a warm shower of pure water down onto their heads. It wasn't enough to soak their clothes, just dampen their shoulders and the carpet around them. 

"Clean up," Ikithon said. 

Muttering the words under his breath, Caleb drew all the water out of the carpet and made it evaporate into nothing. 

Ikithon's mouth twitched. It was the closest Caleb had ever seen Ikithon come to an approving smile. "He is quite skilled, as you can see. I hope he will be satisfactory." 

The king had one graceful hand up to his mouth, though his eyes blazed with something he didn't show on his face. "Quite." 

At the king's acceptance, Ikithon swept out of the room. Caleb was left to his new master without ceremony. 

Caleb was unmoored, all his foundations gone. Ikithon had taken his anchor with him when he left. 

He kept his gaze down, waiting. 

"What is your name?"

The king asked gently, and Caleb startled. He had come close on silent feet, and was now less than an arm's length away from him. 

"My name is Caleb Widogast," he said. Then, unsure what title the king would like, "your Majesty." 

"Are you hungry, Caleb?" 

Still his tone was gentle. Fear coiled tightly in Caleb's gut. Why was the king so close? Why did no pain came down from his hands, though he stood over Caleb like Ikithon when he rained fire upon Caleb's shoulders?

What answer should he give? He couldn't say yes, and he couldn't say no. No would be to deny a possible offer, and that might not be tolerated. Yes would be to presume that the question _was_ an offer, and that might not be tolerated. It didn't matter that there was a bottomless hollow in his body, or that his mouth tasted like dust; he had to be good. How could he be good when he didn't know the rules?

"Caleb?"

"Yes," Caleb said, wretchedly. He'd made the king ask _twice._

"Alright," said the king. "Let's get you something to eat."

"Thank you," Caleb said. "Your Majesty."

"You can- you can get up," said the king. 

Caleb stood, but kept his eyes down. 

"Let's go down to the kitchens," said the king. 

Caleb waited to follow, but the king didn't move. What kind of test was this? What did the king want him to do?

"...If you would like, your Majesty." 

Caleb waited for the correction. He'd spoken out of turn, but the king seemed mollified. 

"Alright," he said, resigned. "It's just this way." 

Caleb followed. He kept his eyes on the king, just so he wouldn't lose his way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: is this going to hurt enough when they read it?  
> also me: absolutely.  
> Me: okay. I feel kind of bad though-  
> also me: p o s t i t


	15. The Lucky Ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have they all met? Yes. Are they anywhere near reaching the happiness they deserve? Absolutely not.

Fjord couldn't bear how Caleb looked at him. Like Fjord might hurt him if he didn't keep his eyes down, or follow like a slave wherever Fjord led. Fjord was careful of every movement, sure not to spook him, but Caleb held onto his blank expression like a shield. Whatever had been done to him had settled deep. 

When they reached the kitchens, Fjord gestured carefully to the collection of fruits and pastries that were always left out for Jester. 

"Anything you like," he said. 

Caleb's eyes flickered to him, then away again. 

Fjord tried again, worry settling in. "Do you like pastries, Caleb?"

Caleb moved slightly, stiffening almost imperceptibly. 

"Yes," he said. "Your Majesty."

From what Fjord had seen, Caleb only spoke when asked a direct question. Even then, he kept his answers short and formal. Maybe it was just living with Jester, but Caleb's reticence made Fjord uncomfortable. 

Beyond his behavior, there was just the way he looked. Malnourished to the point of starvation, old scars all across his face, hands, and what little of his neck that Fjord could see. His clothes looked fine from a distance, but a closer look revealed tattered hems and the unmistakable look of having had several previous owners. Caleb was so skinny that despite wearing a sturdy, if worn, shirt, Fjord could count his ribs. 

"Take one," he said, trying to keep his voice soft. Clearly, Caleb found him threatening. Whether that was his fault or the fault of his title, he didn't know. 

With an almost childlike hesitance, Caleb reached for a small danish. Fjord watched, trying to keep his anger out of his expression. Someone had hurt this poor man, so badly that he couldn't _eat_ without being ordered to. 

"Caleb," Fjord said, as gently as he could. "How old are you?"

Caleb had spent sixteen years studying under that archmage. From what he knew, children in Rexxentrum didn't apprentice until they were twelve or thirteen. Given those two numbers, even if Caleb had gone straight to Ikithon, or started a year or two younger, he was still probably older than Fjord. 

"I am twenty two, your Majesty." 

Involuntarily, Fjord sucked in a surprised breath. Caleb had apprenticed at the age of _six._

To disguise his surprise as much as anything, Fjord picked a pastry of his own. He wouldn't be able to eat it in his disguise, but Jester would be happy when he brought it back for her. 

Or he could give it to Caleb, if he'd accept it. He looked like he needed all the food Fjord could give him. 

Caleb ate with one nervous eye on Fjord. 

Fjord didn't know what to do. On one hand, he needed to speak with the others as soon as possible. On the other, he really didn't want to leave Caleb alone. 

As he weighed his options, the decision was made for him. Nott appeared from behind a table, slipping between the legs of bemused kitchen staff. 

"Molly, you're needed in the war room," she said, skidding to a halt. "Who is this?"

"This is Caleb." Fjord's look put off Nott's questions."I need to talk to everyone. Are they all there?"

"Yes. And I suggest you hurry." 

With that, Nott vanished again. Caleb, who had managed to finish his pastry, moved back to his spot just behind Fjord. 

Fjord sighed. At least he'd eaten something. 

\--

In the hall, he managed to catch one of the staff between tasks. 

"Liam," he called, and the young man turned around. 

"Yes, Majesty?"

"Would you show Caleb here to a room in the residential wing?"

"Certainly," said Liam, sly smile curling his mouth. "One of yours...?"

"No, no, an unoccupied room, so he can settle in. He'll be living here, you see." Fjord tried, he really did, but he was never quite as good at this as Molly had been. 

"I see," said Liam. "Certainly, Majesty." 

"Liam will take you to a room so you can settle in." Fjord felt guilty, leaving Caleb with another stranger. "I'll come up and talk with you when I've taken care of this, okay?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Caleb didn't meet his eyes. Was he shaking? Fjord couldn't tell for sure, but it only made him feel worse. 

"Thank you, Liam." He tried for a smile in Caleb's direction. 

Feeling guiltier by the second, Fjord headed for the war room. 

\--

"We have a lead on Molly's memories," Beau said as Fjord closed the door. 

"What?"

"There are new patterns worked into his tattoos," Jester said, hopping off the edge of the table. "The Traveler says they're pretty powerful, but none of us can read them around all his other tattoos."

"Could they-"

"They might be what's causing the trouble with his memory," Beau said, "but we don't know. For all we do know, they're the only thing keeping him alive."

"We could always try to cast a detection spell-"

"We've been over this," Nott said. "We aren't going to mess with any arcane shit until we know exactly what it does and whether or not it'll explode."

"We may have a way of figuring it out," Fjord said. "We just got given a mage." 

"What do you mean, _given?"_

"I mean, he's a _gift_ from Rexxentrum."

Beau raised an eyebrow. "You know how bad that sounds, right?"

"Yeah," said Fjord. "I do."

"So....?"

"Look," said Fjord. "An archmage from Rexxentrum appeared without warning, offered a _person_ as gift to the kingdom, and I couldn't refuse because they've been eyeing our borders for weeks. Do you want to take a turn at playing king?"

Beau shook her head, mouth pressed into a thin line. "I'm not cut out for this shit."

Fjord sat down, propping his elbows up on the table, brow furrowed. "You should have seen the way the archmage treated him. I couldn't just send him off with a master like that."

"Okay," Beau said. "We'll get back to that in a second. On the topic of Molly's new tattoo... What should we do?"

Jester shrugged, eyes and curiosity fixed on Fjord. "I can ask the Traveler if he can identify it."

"Okay, do that." Beau looked around. "Any other ideas?"

"Unfortunately, I don't think there's much we can do." Fjord shrugged helplessly. "None of us know enough about magic to know if we're helping or hurting the situation."

"Fine." Beau dropped into a seat. Yasha lay a hand on Beau's, who gripped it tight. 

"I just though we were _getting_ somewhere," Beau said bitterly. 

"We are," Fjord said. "It's just that not every problem gets solved quickly, you know?"

"Yeah," Beau said venomously. It wasn't directed at anyone, but it soured the air in the room beyond recovery. 

No one could muster the wherewithal to keep strategizing, so the group left in ones and twos, scattering through the palace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah the tag is Magic Tattoos, plural. Anyway, wish me luck on my college app. I might need it.


	16. Before the Day is Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is calling teiflings "demons" racist?????? I'm deeply worried about this, actually. Does it even matter, since it's fiction twice removed from real life and canon isn't meant to be a racial analogy???? Am I thinking too hard about this????? Is it okay in context because people are stupid about race???? help me  
> Anyway, enjoy this chapter!

Caleb sat with his back turned to the desk. Everything he'd come with sat in small, neat stacks at the foot of the too big, too soft bed. 

He waited. His mind, always quick, threatened to lead him down some dangerous path. It was a new kind of trial, to be left without a task for so long. With Ikithon, he was always meant to be doing something. Always, he was working. Always, he was learning. 

The king had not given him a task. So, he waited. His mind spun around the last thing the king had said to him, _I'll come up and talk with you once I've taken care of this._

Wordless fear slowly coiled up in his gut, eventually knotting so tight that he curled up in the chair. What sort of correction did a demon favor? Caleb thought of a Cleric's magic stitching him up a hundred times over, so that every reminder left on his body was deliberate. An elegant, lavender hand wielding spell or sword. An empty hand, fingernails digging beneath his skin, caked Caleb's blood. Caleb's own hands, burning with magic, turned against himself. 

He didn't know how long he sat there, picking apart his own mind, examining the possibilities until each one seemed equally terrible. 

It must have been evening by the time Caleb heard footsteps outside the door. There was enough warning that he could unwind from his coiled-tight position on the chair, but not enough that he could school his expression back into neutrality. 

There was a knock. 

Caleb waited, but the door didn't open. 

"May I... come in?" The king sounded tentative. Why? As far as Caleb was concerned, everything inside belonged to the king.

Regardless, Caleb scrambled to his feet and opened the door. He held it, bowing deeply. 

"Oh, uh... don't bow, please," said the king. 

Caleb stood up, keeping his spine as straight as he could. He couldn't do anything right, could he? He'd deserve whatever discipline the king had planned. 

"Here," the king said, and Caleb glanced up. In the king's hands, a tray piled with more food than Caleb would eat in a week. "I didn't know what you liked, so..."

As quickly as he could, Caleb cleared off what little was on the desk. Carefully, the king put the tray down. 

He stood then, in the middle of the room, like he was unsure. Caleb knew that wasn't true. The king was testing him again, like the questions, the pastries, the waiting hadn't been test enough. Like the temptation of so much food wasn't test enough. 

Caleb stood, eyes down, waiting for the king to make his decision. 

The king took a breath.

"Caleb," he said, softly. "You can look at me." 

Caleb was beginning to think that that soft tone was dangerous. As dangerous as Ikithon's iron tone, audible sometimes for hours before any discipline was given.

Despite his trepidation, Caleb lifted his gaze. 

Hours before, Caleb had noted the king's purple coloration, but now he'd been given permission to really look. The king's skin was a deep lavender that turned nearly black as it reached his horns, which curled elegantly around his ears. The demon king was build for grace, it seemed. The curl to his mouth was sharp and taunting. Caleb dropped his eyes again, a sickening rush pulling on his innards. 

"Hey, it's okay," the king said. "Look, if you like. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I... Thank you, your Majesty." What did the king want him to say? 

"Please just call me F- Molly. Please just call me Molly." 

"Yes, Molly." Caleb didn't quite know what was happening. The nausea found a place in the back of his throat, a low warning signal. He resigned himself to a few painful weeks as he learned what the king - _Molly_ \- expected of him. 

"I brought something for you to eat," he said, gesturing towards the tray on the desk. It was piled with all kinds of fruit, breads, and cheese. There was a dish of roasted vegetables and chicken, a pitcher of water and an empty goblet, a set of silverware and a sharp knife. 

Of all the confusing things on the tray, it's the knife that caught Caleb's eye first. Ikithon had kept locks on everything sharp in his house, never let it leave his sight when it was out. Despite the magic he put into his student's hands, he never let them touch anything sharper than a spoon. 

"Thank you, Molly." Caleb didn't reach for any of it. Not until he was given permission. He'd made that mistake far too many times to do so again. 

The king sat on the empty trunk at the foot of the bed. He nearly lounged across it, as if he was just as comfortable there as on his throne. The colorful inside of his jacket opened, showing a slice of soft white shirt. 

"Caleb," he said. "Can you help me?"

"Of course, Molly." Caleb didn't like using the king's name, even though he'd been asked. It felt wrong; too familiar for a master and servant. Caleb didn't deserve the king's name, and he never would. 

"I'm afraid that... someone in my court has been tattooed with something arcane, likely against their will." 

Caleb's brow furrowed, but he nodded. He didn't know much about tattoos, but if it was the same as most arcana, he would know something. 

"I was hoping that you might be able to identify the purpose of the arcana." 

"Yes, Molly."

Caleb should be able to do that, if nothing else. It warmed him from the inside, the idea of being good. He could be _good._

Molly's ruby red eyes focused on Caleb, drifting down to the thick scruff of Caleb's beard. The king's gaze burned on Caleb's skin. Heat crawled up into his face. 

It was odd, he thought. The more he looked, the easier it got to guess where Molly's gaze landed. Despite how the king's eyes were just one solid mass of red, Caleb could guess how they drifted from his chin to the jut of his clavicle. 

"Tomorrow," the king said finally, standing. His jacket fell closed, jewelry strung around his horns jangling against itself. 

Caleb dropped his eyes, habits kicking in. 

"When you're ready, find someone and ask for... hm. Ask for Nott." The king stood at the door, already halfway out. Before he closed it behind him, his mouth curled into a gentle, catlike smile. 

Caleb stood still for a long while, neck stiffening as he gazed steadily at the carpet. Only when he was sure the king wasn't coming back did he reach for the tray, claiming an apple. As he bit into it, he noticed a few danishes of the same kind he'd had in the kitchen. 

He never picked up the knife. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *has a thing for hands*  
> Caleb: *has a thing for Molly's hands, specifically*  
> Me: Wait -


	17. The Map To Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch the POV cycle absolutely disintegrate

Caleb didn't like how the other servants looked at him. It was bad enough that he was wandering the halls, looking for a goblin that he'd seen exactly once, but evidently the servants had been instructed to keep an eye on him. Their gazes skated over him warily, setting his teeth on edge. He was so used to being invisible. 

His guts began to knot up after only a few minutes of looking. After a while, his mind stopped racing and he retreated into a fog of desperation. He had to find Nott, the goblin that had appeared in the kitchen. Where she might be, he didn't know. 

After he'd passed the same servant seven times, the girl took pity on him. 

"Are you looking for someone, my lord?"

With how knotted his insides already were, the wrongness of how the girl referred to him didn't make much difference. "Yes," he said. "Nott?"

The girl shook her head. "Lady Nott left early this morning, I'm afraid. Is there anyone else I can point you towards?"

The knot in Caleb's gut tightened. Another of the king's many tests, to send his guide away. Or, perhaps, a lesson. The king was already teaching Caleb the rules, and Caleb had been lucky enough to stumble into it. 

"The-" Caleb choked on the word, throat closing around his deceptively neutral tone "- the king, please."

"Oh!" The girl smiled at him, balancing the basket of clean linens on her hip. "He's just down in one of the meeting rooms, I think."

"Ce-certainly," Caleb said. He had a destination now, and that was better. Even if he didn't know _where_ the meeting rooms were.

"Thank you," he said, unsure how to respectfully return to his task. He couldn't offend anyone here, even a servant. The thought alone sent an urge to run down his spine like an electric shock. The king's sharp, plum colored nails came to mind, coupled with the memory of thirty slivers of crystal burrowing into his soft belly. 

"If you wait here for a moment, I can send Liam up to show you the way," she offered. "He said he'd met you before." 

Caleb nodded. "Thank you," he said, accent thickening. Why was she offering this? Why did she worry at her lip, brow furrowed under her dark hair, looking so like his - 

Caleb's heart seized upon and shied away from the fleeting memory in equal parts, but she smiled at him and the resemblance was lost. This girl's eyes were blue, not brown. There was a gap between her front teeth that suited her open face, not that chip in one canine that only showed when she smiled. 

"He'll be right up," she said, "so stay put, okay?"

She'd taken to speaking in an achingly familiar way, shaping her words gently so as not to scare him off. He didn't know why it was so familiar, but it hurt him somewhere deep. Maybe it was just the undeserved gentleness. 

He nodded. The servant girl turned, hitching the basket back into her arms without losing a single stitch. 

Caleb waited, tucking himself against the cool stone wall. The servants that passed eyed him warily, but none of them stopped or addressed him. He kept his gaze on the carpet. 

After a few minutes, someone tapped him on the shoulder. 

His spine went stiff, breath dying in his throat. Heart speeding, he nearly dropped to his knees, barely catching himself.

When he saw that it was Liam, he relaxed just a little. The boy hadn't even spoken to him the day before, and Caleb gathered that he didn't much care. At least, that was what he thought. Now, Liam wore an expression of furrowed brows and pursed mouth. 

"Lillith said you needed someone to show you to the meeting rooms?"

Caleb nodded. "Yes."

"Alright. Do you need anything else?"

Caleb shook his head. "No."

"Alright then." Liam took a step back into the middle of the hall. "Follow me."

As they walked, Caleb kept one eye on Liam's sandy head and the other on the layout of the palace. He'd known Ikithon's house like the back of his hand, could have drawn a map if asked. He needed to know the palace just as well. It wouldn't do to get lost, or need a guide every time he needed to move from place to place. 

Before too long, Liam knocked on a heavy oaken door.

"Your Majesty? Caleb's here for you," he said. 

With a moment's delay, the door swung open. "Thank you for showing him the way, Liam." 

The king stood at the door, holding it open. 

"Come in," he said, mouth curling into a smile that set Caleb's heart thrumming like a trapped bird. A hundred excuses crowded under his tongue, but he knew better than to offer any. He was late, and no amount of excuses would change that simplest of facts. 

The king stood aside so Caleb could enter. 

With a bow, Liam vanished back down the hall. Caleb heard the king close the door, and a shiver of memory crawled up his spine. Ikithon and his heavy office door, the room lit by eerie arcane lights. The pain that inevitably followed. 

This room was large, filled with sunlight, and just as colorful as the king. Aside from the elaborate tapestries, there were a number of other people. A demon woman the color of a summer sky, boasting a set of ram's horns that curled into spirals far tighter than the king's. She eyed him with a beetle black gaze from the far end of a long, polished table.

Two other women, opposites but for their appearance of brute strength, stood by the windows. The smaller, dark skinned one in blue and gold had a furrow in her brow and a harsh tilt to her jaw. The tall, broad, pale one was as unreadable as the wall. 

Caleb ducked his head, waiting to be shown or told what his next task was to be. 

"Caleb," said the king, approaching from behind. "I'd like you to take a look at some arcane markings. Do you remember?"

"Yes, Maje- Molly." Caleb fought the urge to shy away as the king passed him, though he didn't seem to notice Caleb's mistake. 

"They happen to be marked on my own back." 

Caleb's confusion grew steadily. How could anyone get close enough to a king to tattoo him against his will? 

He had to chase away the thought of the king's deep lavender skin painted with tattoos. His skin like the sea, ink like land, body laid out like a map to paradise. 

Caleb stamped out the dangerous thought, choked it beneath an image of a knife dug beneath his skin in a hundred places, magic stitching him back up only so he could endure a hundred more cuts. The blood would well up and spill across the hollows of his body, and do nothing but reveal the truth of how death clung to him. 

"Before I ask you to take a look, though, there are a few members of my court that you haven't met." The king waved in the direction of the women. 

The blue teifling waved, cream white sleeve bunching up around her elbow. "Hello! I'm Jester. I'm the king's Cleric!" 

The smaller, dark skinned woman lifted a hand herself. "Beau. Captain of the Guard." 

"My name is Yasha," said the tall, pale woman. "I'm... lots of things."

"There's also Nott, who's the head of Intelligence around here, and Fjord." The king's eyes darkened slightly. "I'll go fetch him, shall I?"

Jester nodded importantly. "Please do," she said. Her accent was odd; Caleb couldn't place it. Southern, perhaps? A coastal province? 

The king exited out of a second door tucked behind a tapestry. He came back a moment later, following a broad shouldered half-Orc with a shock of white hair through the black. 

"Hello," said the half-Orc. "I'm Fjord, currently the jack-of-all-trades while we fill out the rest of the court."

\--

They told him his name was Mollymauk. Molly, for short. He accepted the name, for lack of anything better to call himself. 

From what he gathered, he was a king. He hadn't learned yet whether he was a good one. 

He'd discovered, upon meeting Mollymauk's friends, the reason that the blue summer sky had hurt him so. There was a teifling woman, Jester, who's skin was exactly that color, right down to wearing a creamy white cloud for a blouse. She had taken to telling him stories of their adventures. 

The fog in his mind thickened almost to a wall when he listened to her, and that was how he knew he wanted to stay with her. Like itching at a stitched-up wound, he just couldn't shake the urge to push at that wall of fog that kept him from... what? What was hidden in his own mind, and why? 

When Jester had seen the mantle of tattoos on his shoulders, she'd studied them with increasing concern. 

"Why?" he'd asked. "Are they new?"

"No," she'd said, ducking back out of his line of sight. "They just look... I don't know. Different."

He could tell that it worried her. So when Fjord had come and asked him to let a mage take a look, Molly had said yes. 

It hadn't prepared him to see his own face come through the door, then slough off Fjord's body like yesterday's clothes. He'd had to file away his morbid curiosity and recall the things Jester had said to him earlier in the morning. 

"Be gentle, and don't spook him. He doesn't like being asked questions, I think. He's mostly just really scared of everyone." 

Steeling his nerves with a deep breath, Molly followed Fjord out into an unfamiliar room. 

\--

Fjord suddenly felt wrong in his own skin. Caleb looked at him with fear all over again, and not his careful wariness of Mollymauk. Caleb looked at Fjord's real shape with unmasked _fear_ in his eyes, and it made Fjord want to trade skins with someone, anyone, else. 

"Hello, Fjord," he said, dropping his eyes. 

"Caleb," said Molly, catching his attention. 

Fjord swallowed his urge to reach out for Caleb, if only to try and make him feel better. He sat down. It was out of his hands. 

\--

Caleb watched the king strip out of his jacket. The colors pooled in a mess on the floor, and were swiftly joined by the soft white of the king's shirt. 

"You can look at me," said the king. "That is the whole point, no?"

Caleb lifted his gaze carefully. The king met him with a smile before turning around, showing the tangle of shapes inked onto his back and shoulders. It was a study in complexity, certainly. A serpent swirling up his arm, twisting into a bouquet of flowers that Caleb didn't recognize. The flowers turned to the spreading tail of a peacock that fanned delicately across the king's throat and jaw, coming down across his shoulder and fading behind a pyramid. A human eye gazed placidly out from the center of the shape, sketched in delicate lines that seemed to flow together seamlessly. On the joint of his other shoulder, like the first plate in a set of fine armor, a crescent moon set within a shining sun, casting beams across his back. 

It wasn't immediately clear that there _was_ anything arcane in the king's tattoos. But, as Caleb studied the lines, he spotted a miniature sigil, the kind that interlocked with many others to form a larger spell. It was worked into the lines masterfully, blending into the pattern almost seamlessly, but once Caleb had spotted one, the others followed quickly. 

Most of the king's back was covered in a spell so complex that it made Caleb's head spin. He could barely deduce what its purpose was, let alone how to undo it. 

It was a memory spell, yes, but there was much more worked into it. Caleb didn't even know if memory alteration was its main purpose. There was a safeguard, of course, but there were a hundred other tiny variations that could, if tampered with, damage the king's mind beyond repair. 

He stepped away from the king, head spinning. 

The half-Orc, Fjord, was watching him from his place at the table. "Can you tell what it does?"

Caleb's gut began to knot up again. "I... yes. Some of it."

The half-Orc leaned forward onto one elbow, towering over the table. "What do you mean?"

"It is a complex spell. It would take some studying to determine every effect it had." Caleb pinned his gaze on the edge of the table. Not the king putting his shirt back on, not the woman in blue fixing her fiery eyes on him. 

The woman in blue, Beau, left her companion to stand beside Fjord. "What about the effects of tampering with it?"

"It would be unsafe to do so without study," Caleb said, working to keep his voice neutral. He was glad that the heavy table stood between them, even though he knew that wouldn't keep Fjord and Beau at a distance if they wanted to come closer. 

Beau shook her head. "I mean how much studying? to determine how to remove it?"

"I don't know." Caleb knew what the next part was. He'd given the worst possible answer that wasn't _no_ answer. 

He was already bracing himself when Beau spoke again, voice nearly breaking.

"Can you try?"

"I can," he said. He could try anything, if it meant he could be _good._

Jester, the blue teifling, sat up on the edge of the table. "What do you need to do?"

"Transcribe it." He couldn't ask the king to sit still for hours in the library, skin laid out like a map to the answers he was searching for, let Caleb trace his fingers across the lines until he'd committed each one to memory. He couldn't. 

Jester nodded thoughtfully. "So you'll need paper, ink, quills -"

Fjord interrupted Jester's list. "Do you need books? The library is yours, if you want it."

"Thank you." It was more than Caleb would have dreamed of. They were piling supplies on him, more easily than a river along the riverbed. 

Beau put both hands on the table. "How soon can you get started?"

"I haven't got anywhere to be," the king said easily. It was the first time he'd spoken in nearly fifteen minutes, and Caleb found that he'd nearly forgotten that he was there. At that realization, the knot in his gut tightened sharply. He wasn't supposed to forget the king, ever, ever, ever. 

He kept his face neutral. "I can begin now, with materials."

"I'll find you some."

Caleb was left alone with the king once again, and every last drop of his comfort evaporated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear in that first chapter I had not planned for Liam (the errand boy) to become a real character, and only after I posted it did I realize.... Liam. Liam O'Brien. But, in for a copper, in for a gold, as they say. He's a character now, and one who bears a ... striking resemblance to a particular member of the CR cast.  
> Oops?
> 
> Anyway, thank you to everyone who put in their two coppers on Teifling racism! So, that's a theme I'm handling now, because I walked right into that one. But! I will only really get into that one probably after the whole Amnesia!Molly, Molly!Fjord thing is sorted out. So... yeah.


	18. I'm All But Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't noticed, I'm playing fast and loose with the mechanics of D&D magic. Narrative first, rules second, you know?

At Fjord's suggestion, the king relocated the project to the library. It was a vast room, stacked haphazardly with books that seemed to be organized only in the loosest sense of the word. Caleb filed its location away, since he'd need whatever arcana they had. 

Tucked beside the only window, there was a pair of comfortable chairs and a small table. Jester deposited an armful of calligrapher's tools on the table, and the king immediately claimed one of the chairs. 

Easily as anything, the king shed his jacket and shirt again. The afternoon sunlight cast a pattern of shadows across his back, but that wasn't what Caleb was there to study. It was so difficult to focus on the spell, though, when beneath the lines he could see a soft expanse of lavender skin. It was so difficult to focus when the king twisted his inky curls into a knot that lay at the back of his neck, trailing stray locks. 

Caleb stacked the loose parchment into a neat pile. How soft were those curls between the king's fingers?

Caleb picked a quill, checking that it was cut properly. What did it take to make those hellfire eyes soften into a hearth?

Caleb mixed ink, chasing those thoughts away with a tiny spark that burned beneath his shirt where the fabric left space. It wasn't his place. He wouldn't think about the planes and angles of the king's body, wouldn't imagine gentle hands on his shoulders, wrists, waist. He didn't deserve such gentleness. 

He chased the thoughts of gentleness away with a memory. Eodwulf, burning. The rain, turning to mist, that obscured his face. The smell of burnt flesh. The acrid smoke in his mouth. It was safer than the wandering of his mind, despite how the memory set his hands to shaking. 

Jester left, and it was just him and the king. 

Caleb took to the work, marking first the tiny circle of runes, then a pattern of interlocking lines atop that. When he looked at the finished sigil, it was immediately clear that he'd made a mistake. The sigil as written wouldn't have accomplished anything at all. It was dead, magically speaking. 

When he looked at the king's back, he realized that he'd accidentally combined two of the sigils, not transcribed one. 

Careful to keep a safe distance, he lifted one hand to point towards the sigil, keeping his place as best he could. Still, he made a mistake here and there, discarding the useless parchments and keeping the good ones. 

Caleb's arm began to burn from the effort of staying up. His hand trembled, gravitating towards the king's shoulder. Caleb tried to keep his distance, but his attention was absorbed by the transcription. 

His fingertips grazed the king's bare shoulder. 

He flinched back, drawing his hand close to his chest like he'd been burned. No, not like he'd _been_ burned. Like he _would_ be burned. He'd touched the king without an order to do so, and that slip would undoubtedly earn some punishment. 

Caleb's mind flashed to the thought of sharp, plum colored fingernails carving bloody tracks into his skin. A backhanded blow, knocking him to the floor. 

None came. He sat, body drawn tight as a bowstring, behind the king's relaxed form. 

"You can touch me," said the king, softly. "It's alright."

Tentatively, Caleb let two fingers rest upon the sigil, keeping his place. The king's skin was warm to the touch. Caleb could feel him breathing, slow and steady. 

His own heart pounded in his ears. His gut knotted up more and more tightly, but when no punishment came, it began to unwind. Slowly, slowly, his insides unwound. 

By the time he was done, Caleb had a mosaic of delicate sigils. Each was inked onto a different sheet of parchment, numbered with two digits in the top corner. The numbers allowed him to arrange the sigils into their collective pattern, as well as take them out of it to study each individually. 

It would be a herculean task. There were nearly sixty individual spells, each modified by its neighbors and the larger network of the spell. Determining the overall effect of the spell would be difficult enough, let alone finding a way to safely reverse it. 

And then there was the memory of the king, breathing steadily beneath his fingers. 

\--

Fjord couldn't think straight. He tried in vain to focus on the documents before him - tax records from surrounding tenants, he thought - but his mind kept returning to the memory of Caleb, staring at his honest shape with fear written plain on his face. 

It didn't make Fjord less anxious to think that Caleb was alone with the _real_ Molly, and could potentially discover their duplicity at any moment. 

It worried him doubly that he cared so deeply about Caleb, when it had only been two days. He thought he might kill whoever had hurt Caleb to the point of such abject fear. If Caleb couldn't be angry, he would. 

"Are you okay?"

Jester sat across from him, leaning across the table in the interest of her question. 

Fjord dropped the parchments. "I don't know." He thought back. "Has it really only been two months?"

"Since Molly left? It has, I think." She hopped up onto the table, sliding across to sit on the edge beside Fjord. "It seems like so long, you know?"

"It does," he said. 

"You've been doing a very good job," she said, leaning over to bump his shoulder with hers. "I don't think I could handle being someone else for two months."

"Yeah," he said, propping his elbows on the table. "Thank you."

"Can you imagine Beau giving it a try?" Jester laughed. "She'd break character the second someone got mouthy."

Fjord laughed weakly. "She would, yeah."

"It might only be a little while longer," she said. "Caleb's working on it right now!" 

"Yeah," he said. "Only a little while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly is hot, Caleb is repressed and panicking, Fjord is worried, but what else is new? 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's wished me luck on my app! It's out! (maybe if you're good I'll let you know if I get in)


	19. Deciever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! this is... dubious. Have fun.

For the next week, Caleb lived in three places. His desk, the library, and the path between them. He decoded forty of the fifty four sigils, going without sleep for nearly three days at a time. 

He was surprised the first time a servant knocked at the door, bearing a tray of fruit and bread. It was easy enough to understand, though. He'd succeeded in transcribing the sigils, so he received a meal. Perhaps, if this was how the king reinforced his rules, Caleb might not have to worry so hard about how he might hide new wounds. If he succeeded, he ate. He could only conclude that failing meant he wouldn't. 

He kept working, he kept eating, and when he slept, he was too exhausted to dream of the king's deep lavender skin beneath his fingertips. 

By the second week, he'd begun factoring in the sigil's relationships to each other. The finished spell was a complex beast, hiding its purpose beneath a hundred little safeguards that would ripple against each other until they built up to a destructive force. If tampered with, it could strip a mind and body bare. It would leave no language skills, no muscle memory, and only the barest sentience. Similar to a feeblemind spell, but more as a deterrent than a desired effect. 

Caleb kept working. He'd never worked a spell like this on paper. Of all the spells he knew that affected the mind, Ikithon hadn't taught one in theory. He'd had Caleb turn his magic on Eodwulf, Astrid, or himself. It was practical, at the time. Now, when no subject had been offered, he was quite out of his depth. 

Caleb kept working. There was something of a signature to high level magic; no caster left the same flavor behind. If only he could get his hands on the spell itself, he might be able to tell who had done it. Even if it was just the type of caster. 

He considered the idea, putting down his quill. Mages were methodical, almost scientific in their casting. It was logical and caustic. Sorcerers were quite different. The only magic Caleb had felt from a sorcerer was slipshod and completely illogical. Sorcerers ran on imagination and intention. 

Clerics and warlocks were another breed altogether. Caleb found their magic difficult to detect at all, since it wove so cleanly with the subject. Godly magic was nigh-impossible to see after the initial casting. Pact magic was only a shade or two easier to identify. 

The trouble was, they all looked the same on paper. The same sigils, rituals, and materials. The same incantations. It just felt different, like the difference between salty water and fresh. The same until you tasted it. 

If it had been cast by a sorcerer, Caleb could use a standard dispelling array without too much risk. A mage's casting would take more work to dispel, but he could do it with enough time. The real trouble would come if a Cleric or Warlock had cast it. He wouldn't be able to do much then. At least, not safely. 

Caleb stood. It was time to search the shelves of the library. He could collect some dispelling arrays, in the hope that it was a sorcerer's work, and use them as a base if it wasn't. 

Maybe he'd put aside his anxiety and ask to see the spell again, despite how hungry he'd go afterwards. It was odd, the hunger that the spell awakened in him. A vicious curiosity that Ikithon had long since purged. Or so he thought. It woke with a roar, and pushed him endlessly towards the answer. 

He kept his head down on the way to the library, and nobody stopped him. He gave each passing servant a wide berth, and they didn't give him the same wary looks as before. A few greeted him with a smile, but he didn't know how to feel about that. 

When he opened the door to the library, the king was already there. 

He was curled into one of the comfortable chairs by the window, sunning himself like a cat. Almost like Frumpkin, before - 

Caleb shook the thought away, focusing instead upon the king's upside-down gaze, drifting lazily across his face. 

"Hello there," he said languidly, without bothering to pick up his head from where it hung over the arm of the chair. 

"H-hello, Molly," Caleb said, one hand on the open door. He waited, then, for an instruction. His curiosity wouldn't kill him. He couldn't let it. 

The king wore dark pants and tall boots, and a shirt that might have better fit Fjord's broad body. It slid down one of the king's tattooed shoulders, revealing a slice of the sun and moon. 

"Don't worry," he said. "I wont bite. Unless you ask, of course." 

A shiver crawled up Caleb's spine. The king's teeth, digging into the softest parts of his body, blood welling up when they left. 

Caleb closed the door softly. He needed to look at the spell. That was why he'd gone to the library.... right?

No. He was collecting a few dispelling arrays. From the magic books. However, if the king was already threatening... was there much he could do to make it worse?

"Ah... Molly?"

"Yes?" The king nearly purred his answer. The sound was feline and dangerous. 

Caleb's gut knotted up. "I thought.... If I looked at the spell again, it would help my task greatly."

"Certainly." The king sat up. 

Without preamble, he drew in his shoulders and slipped through the wide collar of his too-big shirt. In a moment it lay about his waist, only held there by how it was tucked into his pants. 

Caleb fought to keep his breath under control. 

"Feel free to touch," the king said, turning his back to Caleb. "I don't mind."

Caleb thought he could hear the king bite down on the last word, showing teeth even in just his tone. 

It was lucky that he'd been given permission. Caleb had already asked too much in the name of his curiosity, and couldn't have asked again. Even if it was best to lay hands on the place the magic was worked. 

He lifted both hands as though to put them flat against the king's shoulder blades, but stopped inches away. He was crossing a line. He could feel it, somewhere deep inside. He just didn't know whether he'd regret it. 

The knot in his gut tightened. 

Before he could convince himself to stop, he lay both hands on the king's bare skin. 

The spell was easy to cast. It was nothing, really. Not more than an invisible door unlocked in his mind, to let in the subject's memory of magic. 

The moment he was finished, magic flooded him. It was as uncontrollable as a river, as elusive as water. He gasped. It wanted to drown him. Fog gathered in the far reaches of his mind, a merciful fog like that which had hidden Eodwulf's face as he died. It kept him from... what? 

No. He couldn't let the magic take him, couldn't -

The fog closed in, cutting him off from... something. What had it been? Something so important that he'd felt a rush of feral fear before it was lost. 

His hands rested gently upon the back of a lavender teifling. Was he this important thing? The thing whose loss spurred such a terrible feeling of fear?

The lavender teifling turned under his hands, glancing up at him with infinitely deep red eyes. 

"Caleb?" 

"Yes," he said. He would be anything to keep those eyes on him. 

The concern melted from the teifling's face. The red, red eyes flickered from his eyes to his mouth. 

When he didn't pull away, the teifling leaned carefully upwards, pressing their mouths together. 

He was warm. The teifling's hands came up to tangle in his hair, cradling him with a gentleness that ached. A sharp canine grazed his lip. he dropped his hands down to the teifling's narrow waist, and -

The fog vanished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Magic. I'm bastardizing the source material, and I don't care because it's cool. 
> 
> Also, I lowkey have an obsession with Molly's tattoos. Don't judge me.


	20. Triptych

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: seriously dubious consent. I mean like, christ. I feel kind of bad for this, but.... narrative.

Caleb gasped into the king's mouth. He'd made a terrible mistake, letting the magic in. It had been far, far too powerful for the likes of him, flooding through the opened door and dragging him down too. It was only chance that freed him from the fog, and now he'd as good as lit his own pyre. 

The king took Caleb's gasp as an opportunity, slipping a forked tongue between his lips. His warmth was overwhelming, hands tightening in Caleb's hair, bare chest pressed flush to Caleb's own body. 

His hands gripped the king's waist. Caleb could feel him breathing, feel his body alive beneath his touch. 

Panic settled beneath Caleb's ribs. He didn't know what to do, so he did nothing. His hands fell to his sides, his body going soft and pliable as he just followed. If this was what the king wanted, he was in no place to refuse. 

The king led Caleb by the mouth, over the arm of the chair and into his lap. Unsure of what to do, Caleb tucked his hands around the king's head in a mirror of the way the king's finger's tangled through his hair. 

He was warned with a growl that crawled through the king's open mouth and down his throat. Immediately, Caleb dropped his hands. 

"No," the king mumbled, pulling away for the barest second. "that's good." 

_good._ The word lay like a glowing coal on the king's tongue, and Caleb wasn't sure if it would burn him. 

He brought his hands back up, twisting his fingers tentatively in the king's loose curls. His inexperience worked against him; there was no room to disguise a mistake, and Caleb was sure to make many. What did the king want? He had no instructions, was left to follow blindly as the king rushed forward, pressing them closer with one hand to Caleb's back. 

Caleb tried to quell the panic that thrummed in his heartbeat. He was in over his head, in so deep that he'd be lucky to escape with his life. 

He let the king strip his shirt away, hoping that he'd give Caleb an instruction to cling to. Caleb had thought he was finding his way, but now he'd been set loose in the current, and there was nothing to do but stay afloat until the shoreline came into view. 

\--

Molly felt Caleb gasp, hands tightening on his waist. Questioning, he licked at Caleb's lip, and when his mouth stayed open Molly invaded gently. 

Caleb was beautiful. Careful and shy, diligent with his work. Flames of red hair tangled in Molly's fingers. Caleb was so kind, working on a spell to reveal Molly's own mind, hidden from himself. 

Caleb dropped his hands. Molly couldn't quite see what he was doing, but it didn't matter. Caleb could have cut him open and all Molly would have done is asked for more. 

He sat back into the chair, and Caleb followed without breaking away. Molly had Caleb in his lap, then, and it was perfect. Even though Caleb was all bones, angles and sharp edges, Molly wouldn't have moved for love or money. 

Caleb's hands curled around Molly's head, gentle as a spring breeze. 

Molly groaned. He wanted Caleb to pull on his hair until his scalp stung, but instead Caleb's hands left his skin. 

"No," he said, between kisses. "That's good."

Caleb's hands returned, tangling a little more assuredly into Molly's hair. 

Molly pressed him closer, but was met with Caleb's shirt instead of his body. He tugged on it once, a silent question, and when Caleb's tongue slid against his in answer, he broke away and pulled it off him. 

He was too absorbed in Caleb's hands, too focused on his mouth to notice how his body was riddled with scars. 

\--

For once, Fjord wasn't buried in work. It was a rarity, the freedom of that afternoon, and he'd decided to spend it on Caleb. He'd been working non-stop for weeks, and Fjord thought it was time to try convincing him to take a small break. If only to eat a proper meal, instead of the light fare he'd been given with some frequency. 

Fjord was acquainted with the process of recovering from near-starvation, and he knew that Caleb was probably safe to eat something heartier than bread and fruit. 

In the interest of this project, he'd discovered that the kitchens was in the midst of making a rich stew, and asked the cook to have some sent up to the library for Caleb and him. On his way there, he'd stopped at Caleb's room, but Caleb hadn't been there. 

Already in the library, then. Fjord was grateful for that. Caleb had seemed more comfortable in the library than his room, the few times that Fjord had seen him. If Caleb had found a place he liked, he was glad that Caleb decided to spend time there, rather than waiting to be ordered to. 

As Fjord made his way towards the library, he had to dodge fewer and fewer passing staff. Of all the things that he didn't like about pretending to be Molly, it was having to compensate for their difference in stature that worried at him. How long would it be before he did that automatically? Like how he slipped the enchantment on even before he got out of bed, how his voice didn't like to stay his own. How he felt nervous whenever he walked through the palace without an enchantment caked on him like thick makeup. 

Fjord opened the door to the library with a knock, to warn Caleb before he came in. The poor mage had looked terrified when Fjord-as-Molly had accidentally snuck up on him reading once, and Fjord was not eager for a repeat incident. 

He was easy to find. All Fjord had to do was look, and there was Caleb. He was on the far side of the room, his shirt on the floor, and with him -

_shit._

With him was _Molly_ , also shirtless, the two of them tucked into one chair beneath the window. They stared at him, wearing twin expressions of mortification with vastly different implications. Molly looked embarrassed. Awkward, but nothing he wouldn't heal from. It was Caleb who wielded his own fear like a weapon, always turned against himself. 

And even that was salvageable. What made his predicament so bad was just one little, tiny detail. 

Fjord had walked in wearing Molly's face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God everyone's going to be so damn traumatized by the end of this. Poor Fjord's been faking his identity for months now, Molly's got... whatever that is going on, and Caleb.... well. You know.
> 
> Triptych (pronounced trip-tick): something composed or presented in three parts.


	21. The Invisible, Irreplaceable

Nott liked what she did for two reasons. It was fun, and she was very, _very_ good at it.

In town, there was an easy way to stay unnoticed; a sharp tongue, and most people would leave you to your drinks. A knack for putting on personas, and no one would be able to identify that it was you. Nott liked those missions. The ones where she landed in a town, wore three different faces about seven different taverns, and went back to Zadash with a wealth of information. She got to day drink and keep her family safe, and that was all she wanted, really. 

And, if a couple of locals suddenly found themselves short a coinpurse, button, or family heirloom, she'd be gone by morning anyway. 

She was still good at the other kind of mission, but sneaking through empty woods wasn't half as much fun without her friends. It was increasingly necessary, though, as the Dwendalian Empire kept expanding around them. Nott suspected that the only reason that Zadash hadn't been conquered already was the bloody, brutal habits of Molly's forefathers.

Anyone who cared to look would see that Mollymauk Tealeaf was a kind, generous ruler. Unfortunately, the Empire was eyeing their land because of how kind and generous they'd been. Perhaps, by being kind to the people, they had condemned them. 

Nott didn't like to think about that. 

This was one of those missions that meant a little of both the forest and the town, just gathering as much information from the surrounding kingdoms as possible. It had been boring, but easy, with plenty of room to stop for a whiskey if she felt like it. At least, it had been. 

Late in the day, Nott spotted a dark mass on the road to the north, moving quickly. It didn't take her long to realize what it was. 

An army, headed south, bearing the crest of the Dwendalian Empire. Undoubtedly headed for Zadash, the only territory for a hundred miles that they hadn't yet annexed. 

Nott didn't stay a moment longer. She turned and ran, back towards Zadash, hoping that a lone goblin could move quicker than an army. 

She had to warn them, and quickly. Otherwise, they wouldn't survive to protect each other. Let alone their kingdom. 

\--

Beau liked the guard. They respected her, but not enough to keep from joking around and inviting her for drinks. She'd also started teaching them some unarmed, Cobalt Soul style combat tricks. As far as she could tell, it was well received. It was also a resolute "fuck you" to the Soul, so that was a plus. 

She was running morning drills in the courtyard, working up just as much of a sweat as her men. There was an odd number that day. Jericho had taken his two weeks leave to help his wife with a new baby, so Beau filled his spot when the guard paired up. 

Dodging clumsy blows from her partner, one of the younger guards, she caught sight of Nott, running like hell through the main gate. 

That set warning bells ringing in Beau's head for a couple of reasons. For one, Nott never came through the front gate. She slipped in through the mostly-bricked-up tunnel system in the walls. For another, Beau had never seen Nott _run_ unless something really, really awful was right on their ass. Last, but definitely not least, Nott's hood was gone. Not down, not loose, _gone._ Like she'd dropped it, or it had been torn off while she was running and she couldn't afford to snatch it back up. 

Beau ducked out of combat easily, even before she realized that Nott was headed straight for her, too. 

Nott tried to skid to a stop, but didn't quite manage it. Instead, she collided head-on with Beau's knees. 

"Nott!" Beau dropped into a crouch, both hands steadying Nott's bony shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"An army," Nott gasped, "on the road in. They didn't stop at the border. We need to run. _Now."_

A plan formed, quick as lightning. Beau stood, turning to the assembled guard. 

"There's an army coming," she said. "And we have no time to prepare." 

Every face in the courtyard went pale as milk. 

"The court is going to do what we did best, before we came here." She walked while she spoke, picking up her discarded robe, staff, and ring of keys. "We're going to run. You are going to stay here, and keep the people safe." 

Beau pulled her robe back on over her binding, knotting the sash unceremoniously about her waist. 

"Cara's in charge." She hiked her staff up onto her back. "Whatever you do, _don't fight them._ They have numbers, they have weapons, they have brains, and they _will_ kick your ass. We'll be back."

With that, she picked up Nott and sat the tiny goblin, still gasping for breath after her marathon, on her shoulders. As she passed, she clapped Cara on the shoulder. The half-elf had been in the guard before Beau had come along, knew exactly what she was doing. At least, Beau hoped she did. 

When Beau turned back for a moment to close the door, she saw that each guard had raised a hand in farewell. Only one spoke. It was Cara, shouldered to the front of the throng. 

She raised her own hand, bidding farewell. "Long may he reign."

Then the door was closed, and Beau ran. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: Beau binds her chest because boobs are usually in the way when you're trying to punch someone. It's not a gender thing for her, but she Will punch a transphobe with no questions asked. 
> 
> It's Plot Twist time babes!!! Always at the worst possible moment.....


	22. Collateral Damage

Fjord really, _really_ wished that he didn't have to deal with this situation. 

Caleb sat on the floor. He had reclaimed his shirt, and ended up sitting just in front of the chair in which Molly curled, catlike, one hand still tangled in Caleb's red hair. Caleb sat on his knees, hands tucked palm-up on his lap. His spine was straight, but his eyes were fixed blankly on the floor.

Molly, for his part, looked entirely unapologetic. His mouth curled in a playful, lascivious smile, and of the fingers that weren't in Caleb's hair, one absently traced the ridges on his horns. There was no jewelry there; Molly said it was a waste of time to lace himself in glittering things each morning. This Molly. Magicked, memoryless, and unconcerned with the things he used to care about. 

Fjord sat opposite them, feeling distinctly like a disappointed parent. 

He'd dropped the disguise the second the door closed behind him. Even without looking, he'd heard the abortive sound that Caleb made, still tucked neatly into Molly's lap. 

"Shh," Molly had said, gently pulling Caleb close to his chest. He must have been trying to offer comfort, but Fjord's heart twisted at the look on Caleb's face. It was there and gone, blank mask pulled on almost before Fjord had a chance to identify the look. 

It would have been better if it was fear. Hell, Fjord would have killed to see plain confusion twist Caleb's brow, to see anger spark in his blue eyes, but no. Caleb looked guilty. Guilty like a survivor walking off the battlefield, like a victim convincing themselves that they were to blame. 

He looked trapped. 

"Molly," Fjord had said, evenly. "Why don't you let Caleb go?"

Mouth twisting into a pout, Molly opened his arms. Caleb didn't move. Instead, he trembled, lanky body tucked beneath Molly's chin. 

Fjord waited for him to move on his own, already regretting what he'd say next. 

"Caleb, come put your shirt on." Fjord tried to say it gently, but an order was an order. He didn't like how no matter what he did, he'd be hurting Caleb. Giving orders perpetuated the fear he wore like a cloak, and leaving him to his own devices was just as bad. 

Caleb didn't get up. He just shook like a leaf in the wind, face nearly hidden in Molly's shoulder. 

"Love," Molly had said. "Listen to Fjord. Put your shirt on." 

Mechanically, Caleb picked himself up and pulled on his shirt. It was just as old and worn as the one he'd come to the palace in, and Fjord wondered vaguely if Caleb had even opened the wardrobe that Jester had filled with clothes for him to try. 

Caleb dropped his hands to his sides and waited. He didn't stop shaking. 

Behind him, Molly pulled on his own shirt and sank back into a comfortable position in the chair. 

"Let's sit down," Fjord said. "I think you deserve an explanation, Caleb." 

Instead of perching on the arm of the chair or the edge of the table, as Fjord expected, Caleb knelt at Molly's feet. He faced Fjord, who sat down opposite, and flinched but didn't pull away when Molly's hand came to rest in his hair. 

Then Caleb and Molly waited, and Fjord wished with all his heart that he didn't have to deal with this. 

Since his day was already ruined, he decided to start with the worst part.

"For most of the times that Molly was with you, Caleb," Fjord said, "it wasn't Molly. It was me." 

Caleb's mask didn't waver, and neither did his gaze. Still fixed doggedly on an empty patch of flooring between them. 

"The reason I've been... well, Molly, is that he's lost his memory." Fjord laced his hands together to quell the urge to do what Molly had done just a moment ago; pick Caleb up and hold him, try to protect him and keep him safe.

And maybe, if Caleb wanted, kiss him.

Fjord shook that thought away. Caleb couldn't consent if he thought he would be punished if he didn't. 

"When Nott found him, he had that spell worked into his tattoos." Fjord forged ahead. He was in too deep to back out now. "We think that it's what damaged his memory."

"It isn't _damaged_ ," Molly said. "I just can't _get_ to it."

Fjord shrugged, unwilling to start a fight. And, he sensed, that was how it would end up.

A screaming match would be of no help to Caleb, so he squashed the urge to start one just for the catharsis. 

"I'm sorry we lied to you," Fjord said, directly to Caleb. "I'm sorry I lied to you." 

Caleb's shoulders tensed. It twisted Fjord's heart to know that Caleb probably hadn't trusted them in the first place. Why would this betrayal matter?

"Molly," Fjord said. "Tell me what you were doing with Caleb."

"Well," Molly said, drawing out the words like honey. "You know what people do when they like each other, right Fjord?"

"Assume I don't," Fjord said. Molly's games were usually harmless enough, but this one meant Caleb's wellbeing, and Fjord wasn't about to risk that. When Ikithon had come, he'd made Caleb Fjord's responsibility, and Fjord would be damned if he let Caleb get hurt on his watch. 

"We were kissing," Molly said, laying his head over the arm of the chair. "You do know what that is, don't you?"

He grinned, clearly hoping to get a rise out of Fjord. 

Fjord felt more and more like an imitation of a disappointed father. "Did Caleb consent?"

Molly snorted. "Yes." 

He said it like it was obvious. _of course he consented. What do you think of me?_

"Molly," Fjord said. He paused, waiting for the teifling to look at him. "I don't think Caleb _can_ consent." 

Molly sat up. "What do you mean?"

For a brief moment, Fjord considered trying to explain what he'd witnessed of Caleb's behavior. Instead, he followed his instinct. His blind, idiotic, monstrous instinct. 

"Caleb, look at me." Fjord's tone was cool, but still gentle. 

Caleb looked up. His tired, blank blue eyes didn't move above Fjord's chin. 

"Come here," Fjord said. He stayed still, elbows propped on his knees so he was bent over, fingers laced together harmlessly. His effort to seem nonthreatening was in vain, because Caleb trembled slightly at the order. 

Caleb picked himself up and walked unsteadily over to stand in front of Fjord. His legs must have fallen asleep while he knelt. 

Fjord wondered what Caleb's previous master would have done with him standing before him like this. Quiet, obedient, wearing an expression blank as a fresh sheet of parchment. Backhanded him? brought out a knife? Or, worse even than that, had he done what Molly had done? Had he gone further? Did Ikithon teach him to obey and then take advantage of how Caleb couldn't say no? 

Fjord felt like murder. He wanted Ikithon to die, and die slow, under his bare hands. 

"Sit down," he said. 

Caleb sat. 

"Stand up," he said. 

Caleb stood. 

"Tell me," Fjord said, swallowing a sick feeling, "what you would do if Molly asked you to kill me." 

Caleb swallowed. "I would -" 

He broke off, accent thicker than Fjord had ever heard it. 

"I would," Caleb said simply. 

Fjord pushed. He had to make certain that Molly understood what he'd done. "Would you stop Molly if he hurt you? Would you say no to him at all?"

"I would not," Caleb said quietly. 

Fjord sucked in a breath. He couldn't deal with this line of questioning. It made his stomach churn, made him feel dirty and wrong and everything that he'd fought tooth and nail not to be. It made him feel like a monster. 

"Caleb," Fjord said gently, trying for a kinder set of questions. "Tell me, if you could have anything to eat right at this moment, what would you want?" 

It looked like Caleb short circuited. He just stopped, his shoulders tensing up, his breath going still. Fjord thought that if they'd been touching, he would have felt Caleb's heart beat hard enough to break his own ribs. 

"I don't know," Caleb said, miserable and quiet. 

"If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?" 

Caleb shook his head. Fjord could see that tears had gathered in his eyes, and now they threatened to fall. 

Once more. Just one more, so that Molly would _see._ So that he would get it through his thick skull that Caleb couldn't consent until he could answer questions with _no_ and _raspberry turnovers_ and _It would be nice to see Draconia._ Fjord needed Molly to understand. 

"This is the last question, I promise," he said, "and then we'll be done. Caleb, what do you want for yourself? In the future, I mean. Do you want a family? A bookshop? If you could have any future you wanted, what would it be?" 

There was a pause. Fjord watched Caleb's face crumple in slow motion, and there was a moment when his savage want was satisfied. Molly would finally _understand._

"I want to be good," Caleb said miserably, tears carving tracks down his face. 

Fjord broke. He wasn't angry anymore, he wasn't desperate for Molly to understand what he'd done. He was just sorry. Sorry in the marrow of his bones, in the beat of his heart. 

"You _are_ good," he said, pinning his own hands to his leg to stop himself from reaching out. "You're so good. You did so well." 

Caleb's body shook with tears. 

"I'm sorry," Fjord said. "I'm so sorry. You _are_ good, Caleb. You are."

Fjord almost started crying, then. In an effort to shut it down before it began, Fjord stood and backed himself against the wall. Guilt would eat him alive for this, but maybe Molly had gotten it through his head. 

The cold stone grounded him. He'd backed himself against a wall this way a hundred times. As a kid, pinning his hands behind his back so he wouldn't split his knuckles on a schoolyard bully. As a teenager, cracking the back of his own head against the stone, over and over. _Monster. Monster. Monster._ He'd done it as an adult, scraping his fingers raw to distract from how his jaw ached from pulling out his own tusks.

This time, he didn't hit his head. Not with the glass there. He didn't pinion his hands. He didn't dig his fingers into the cracks of the stone. He just stood, and let the guilt wash through him like the tide, let it drown him. He deserved to be sorry. He'd hurt Caleb. Question after question, he'd hurt him, and he didn't stop until Caleb had broken.

They were right. _Monster. Monster. Monster._

You can sit," he said to Caleb, and he had to stop himself from reaching out. 

Caleb sat carefully in the comfortable chair that Fjord had just vacated. 

Fjord turned to look at Molly. A look of horror had cemented itself onto the teifling's face, wide-eyed and openmouthed. 

"Do you see?" Fjord sat down on the floor, back to the wall. His own voice was thick with tears unshed. "He _can't_ consent. Be grateful I didn't let you get any further."

Molly didn't respond. He was too busy processing the horror of what he'd almost done. The lesser horror of what he had. 

Caleb shook, silently, tucked neatly into his chair. Tears ran down his face, his eyes and mouth pressed shut, but he didn't make a sound. His hands stayed completely in view, resting uselessly on his legs. 

Fjord let himself curl up around his knees, the cold stone wall beneath the window digging into his back, and tucked his face into his arms. The sun had long since set, and it didn't look like any of them were leaving. 

It was going to be a long night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Fjord finally broke, and Molly and Caleb had to deal with the blowback. Poor Caleb doesn't know how to figure out what he wants, or even if he's allowed to want things.  
> They're my children and I love them, but no one should have let me put them all in a room together. 
> 
> I know a couple of people wanted to see this chapter from Caleb's POV, but Fjord just needed a lil angst and character development, you know? And what better time for it than during a few impending and ongoing crises? 
> 
> Anyway, this takes place the same day Nott spots the army.


	23. Run

Beau ran. With Nott on her shoulders, she scoured the palace for her makeshift family. 

Jester was asleep in the bed she'd claimed when Molly first vanished. When he came back, the two teiflings had ended up sharing the one massive, canopied bed. 

"Jester!" Beau dragged her out of bed by the horns, dumping her on the cold floor in an unceremonious pile of limbs. "Get dressed! We have to go, _now."_

Their years of adventuring kicked in, and Jester scrambled for her clothes and weapons. 

"Where's Molly?"

"I don't know!" Jester cinched her belt around her waist. "He didn't come to bed last night, I thought he was fine, maybe with Fjord, but -"

"No time! Let's go," Beau said, already halfway out the door. 

Jester was out a second later, green skirts dancing, tail lashing as she ran after Beau. 

Caduceus was in his room, sitting on the sill quietly with a steaming cup of tea in his hands. He looked down at them with one of his slow smiles. 

Beau shattered it. "We need to run, _now. G_ rab what you need and follow me!"

Caduceus stood, stretching. "Now wait just a moment -"

"No time! We're being invaded and there's no universe in which we win," Beau threw him a bag. "Get your furry ass into gear before we leave you to the Empire!"

Caduceus dropped the bag in favor of his staff. "Why didn't you say so? Lead the way, Miss Beauregard."

He followed at an easy stride, long legs devouring two of their steps in one of his. 

"Jester, Cad, check Caleb's room. Nott and I've got Fjord."

The group split at the end of the hall, each scouring a room for an absent occupant. 

When they met in the hall, Beau shook her head. "Fjord's not here." 

Jester gathered up her mane of kinky-curly blue hair, knotting it by hand so it stayed out of her face. "Caleb too."

"Library?"

"Sounds right," Jester said. 

They took the stairs two at a time, shattering the early morning quiet with pounding footsteps. Staff got out of the way, pressing into doorways and against walls. 

Beau threw open the door to the library. It slammed against the inside wall, knocking a few volumes to the floor. 

Caleb startled awake in one of the chairs. Molly rolled to his feet from the other. Fjord picked up his head from where it lay in his arms, bleary eyed, then shot to his feet. 

"What's wrong?"

"Invasion. Empire. No time, we need to run." 

"The people?"

"Surrendering. We'll come back," Beau grabbed Caleb by the arm, hauled him to his feet. "But right now, we need to live to fight another day." 

Fjord nodded. "All ready?"

"When you are," she said. 

"Let's go." Fjord turned to Caleb. "Stay behind Caduceus, okay?"

Caleb nodded. Molly fell in behind him, and Fjord brought up the rear. 

They ran. 

It was just like a hundred other times, a hundred other adventures, though now the tension was choking instead of exhilarating. Beau hated leaving the guard, the city she'd learned to love. She feared for the people, only just learning to trust them and their goodness. 

In the war room, they slipped into the tunnels, one by one. Nott dropped to the floor, lithe as a snake, and led the way. 

Tense, silent minutes of cramped progress, and they came out in a clump of pines on the east side of the city. Then, as they had so many times before, the Mighty Nein vanished into the early morning mist. 


	24. In The Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is officially my longest (actually it has been for a while but I haven't been paying attention)! The runner up is only 22k or so! Thanks everybody who's commented and given me inspiration. This one is for you!   
> Enjoy!

It was a long way to Nicodranas. 

Nearly two years off the road had left Beau, Fjord, Nott, and Jester out of practice in the grueling art of walking for days on end. Caduceus, for his part, seemed perfectly happy with the dogged pace. Caleb was as he always was; cautious, fearful, and obedient. 

Molly didn't know how he felt. He didn't hate the long hours of walking, as much as it made him ache more with every passing day. It was his penance. And, as it happened, it was beautiful. Summer had turned to Autumn, and harvest time saw the countryside burnished red and gold. 

As they walked, there was a thought that plagued him. Did he want his memories back? Did he want that wall of fog to drift away? It would be easy, certainly. It would be the price of this little slipshod family. The family that seemed to want that other Molly quite badly. 

If that other Molly wasn't him, then who was he? 

Not a king. The other Molly had been, and had been a good one, judging by the stories. 

He wasn't good, either. He had hurt Caleb. He knew that now, and it rubbed his heart raw. He hadn't noticed what had been so obvious in retrospect, and now he couldn't stop noticing. 

Caleb never said no. He did anything he was told, with no questions and no judgement. He kept his head down. He flinched away from any movement too fast, as much as he tried to hide it. And, most damning of all, wound around him like a spider's web was an air of deep-set fear. It never left, only retreated or expanded based on the circumstances. 

In light of all that, did he want to sacrifice himself for that other Molly? Trade himself, as intangible as he may be, for a ghost locked somewhere in his mind? 

He didn't know, but he suspected he'd have to decide quickly. 

\--

That night had lit a fire in Caleb. Fjord, a forbidding figure of sharp lines, had come undone and call him _good_ while weeping fit to raise an ocean. Why? Why had he followed praise with apologies, when Caleb had done so poorly by any measure? 

He didn't know, but it had lit that vicious curiosity. 

Caleb thought, too, that he had a grasp on the nature of Molly's enchantment. The sheer volume of magic had overwhelmed him at first, but its aftertaste was distinct. A sorcerer, most likely. it might have been a mage, aided by an energy siphon and some dubious leaps of magical logic. 

If he could get to a quill and some ink, he could make an attempt directly on Molly's skin. It might be safer to try on some parchment first, but Caleb had seen the desperation on Fjord's face when he'd first begun to work. And, with a temporary array, everything would be entirely reversible. All it would take was soap and water. 

But Caleb had no quill, had no ink. He just had them. Caduceus, slow to direct. Jester, always chattering happily. Beau, stone-faced and severe. Nott, perpetually tipsy and playful. Fjord, dangerous and gentle and missing his set of Orcish tusks. Molly, wild and kind and painted with tattoos like his skin was a lavender canvas. 

Caleb followed, and his fear faded just a shade every day. So long as he followed, so long as he _tried_ , they wouldn't discipline him. Those were the rules. He could follow them, now that he knew them. He could deserve it when Fjord called him _good._

_\--_

Jester had forgotten what the endless days of travel were like. Boring, mostly. Terrifying, sometimes, like when they had to slip into the woods to avoid towns or farmland or roving crown's guard. There was little sleep and less food, and nobody was happy. 

Jester only kept going because of the warm hand of the Traveler on her shoulder. If he was there for her, she could do anything. 

Either way, it was a long, long way to Nicodranas. 

\--

Beau planned. She walked abreast with Fjord, bouncing ideas between them until they came upon one that wasn't going to get them killed. 

"Tal'Dorei is far enough," Fjord said one afternoon, green skin turned gold by the evening light. "We'd be able to regroup without the fear of the empire looming over our heads." 

"Are you sure?" Beau scuffed the toe of one boot against the dirt. "We haven't exactly got much gold these days." 

"Jester's mother lives in Nicodranas, right?" 

Beau raised an eyebrow. "And she's going to pay for a charter to Tal'Dorei?"

"No," Fjord said, "but she can loan us the gold. Once we're back at Zadash, we can settle the debt whenever we like."

"What will we do in Tal'Dorei? Go back to adventuring?" 

Beau wasn't mean, she was practical. She took her risks in calculated, if large, doses. Starting a second career on another continent seemed like a bad idea, however you looked at it. 

Fjord started to speak, to tell her the next step in his fantastic plan. "There's a story -" 

Jester cut them off, then. "Look! It's Nicodranas!"

The city rose on the horizon, the glittering, wine-dark sea behind. 

"Time to go see my mom!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: four chapters in a single day? Are you crazy?   
> also me: absolutely. now k e e p w r i t i n g  
> Me: we have precalc homework! We're so behind! And we have that music history lecture series that we haven't even started! you have to practice violin!   
> also me: w r i t i n g   
> Me: Fine! Forget about leveling my homework stat, I'll be at the computer, brutally murdering some widomauk fans. happy?  
> also me: *satisfied goblin noises*


	25. Ruby, Sapphire, Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have No Idea what Nicodranas is like in canon. For that matter, I have No Idea what the Ruby of the Sea is like in canon.   
> Have fun with this chapter!

Jester stood in the middle of a busy street, jumping up and down and waving frantically. People streamed around her, shouldering along and avoiding Jester's flailing limbs. 

From a balcony above them, a ruby red teifling waved back with one hand, elegantly. 

Jester blew a kiss and ran back to the side of the road, where everyone waited for her. 

"Okay," she said. "My mom's going to let us in the back. Follow me!"

It was a familiar, winding path to the other side of the exquisite building. Jester liked the way the streets in Nicodranas took the long way around to everything. It was pretty, and it made you pay attention. 

There was a time that Jester spent days at a time getting lost in the streets of Nicodranas. That was how she'd met the traveler first; as an invisible, guiding hand that led her back to the familiar tangle of alleys behind her mother's house. 

Now she was the guide to her friends, herding them quickly through the twists and turns towards her childhood home. 

Ryla, an older human lady that was like Jester's aunt, held the door open. Between them, they shuffled Jester's group through the door as quietly as possible, keeping an eye on the street all around. 

"My, little sapphire." Ryla planted a kiss on Jester's cheek. "You have brought plenty of friends!" 

"Is my mom free to see us? we kind of have to talk to her," Jester said, bouncing on the tips of her toes. 

"I believe so," Ryla said. "Wait here a minute. Get something to eat, and I'll go see if she's free." 

Ryla slipped out of the room, leaving Jester and her friends standing awkwardly in a crowded, fast moving room. 

Fjord tucked himself in an empty corner, and Caleb followed. Molly stuck to Jester like glue, tail swishing back and forth so that it hit her leg with a repeating _thwack._ There was a tension between the three of them, but Jester didn't have time to think about it, because Beau had just collided with a staff member. A bottle of wine shattered across the stone floor, glass and purple alcohol splattered across everyone in the immediate area. 

"I'm sorry," Beau said. "Shit. Let me help." 

She knelt, regardless of the wine that would seep into her wide-legged trousers, and collected the broken glass in her bare hands. 

Yasha's mouth twitched in a suggestion of a smile. She didn't help, but got out of the way so others could. 

Where had Nott gone? Jester looked around, but she couldn't spot her anywhere. Slipped away to refill her flask? 

No, there she was. Speaking to Caleb animatedly, waving both bony hands in excitement. In an effort to get their gazes level, Caleb had knelt down with his hands folded in his lap. His shaggy beard hid whether or not he smiled back at her, but there was something new in his eyes. 

Caduceus, for his part, was ducking to avoid the low beams of the ceiling, and didn't seem to have noticed much of what was going on. 

Jester slipped through the throng of staff, assembling an armful of snacks. Grapes, apples, flaky pastries, strawberries in a little woven basket. Marzipan in abstract shapes (she studiously avoided the _lifelike_ ones), chocolates. 

When she had shouldered her way back to her friends, the wine had been mopped up and everyone had tucked themselves off to the side with Fjord, Nott, and Caleb. 

"Here," she said, brandishing her heaping pile of food. "Snacks!"

They vanished quickly. She kept a cinnamon-y bear claw for herself, and a raspberry crown for Caleb. He hadn't taken anything for himself, so she offered it to him directly. 

"I saved one for you, Cay-leb." 

He glanced to Molly briefly, then to Fjord. 

"Go ahead," said Fjord. He looked a little sick. Was there something wrong with his stomach? He'd gotten them regularly in their adventuring days, but Jester would have to ask Caduceus for some help. He was better with illness than her. She was just born to be a battle cleric, always better at trauma surgery and combat than plain old illness. One of his tinctures would settle Fjord's stomach in no time. 

Caleb accepted the pastry she offered. 

Brushing the crumbs off her dress (still crumpled and travel-worn), she ate her own pastry. 

"So..." Beau crossed her arms. "Your mom... works here?"

"She's a courtesan, yes," Jester said, happily. She knew her mother to be the _finest_ courtesan on the Menagerie Coast. At least, in reputation. 

Before Beau could ask another question, Ryla reappeared. 

"She's free! You can go right on up." She smiled warmly. "I'm sure you remember the way, little sapphire." 

"Thank you, Ryla!"

Jester's friends followed her up the tightly spiraled back stair, all the way to the very top floor. Like the staff passages in the palace at Zadash, the space was quite narrow. Fjord, Yasha, and now Caduceus had to bend to fit through. 

At the top, Jester knocked six times on the plain wooden door. 

The door flew open, and Jester vanished in a cloud of silk and red skin. 

"My little sapphire!" He mother's embrace was soft and perfumed like peonies in bloom. "I heard about the Empire coming into Zadash, and your letters stopped-"

"I'm fine, mom," she said. She always felt like a child in this room, saturated with her mother's perfume and the smell of soap. "I brought my friends to talk to you, too." 

"Oh!" Her mother released her with a kiss on the head, their horns knocking together. "Welcome, Jester's friends!" 

They filed in one by one, most looking a little uncomfortable. Only Yasha and Caduceus looked completely at ease, and that was probably just because they _always_ looked at ease. It was enviable. 

"Thank you," said Fjord when nobody else spoke, dutifully taking up his role as the group's face. "It's nice to meet you, ma'am."

Jester's mother laughed. "Marian, please. Nobody calls me ma'am unless they're paying." 

She sat down on the chaise, midnight blue silks spreading like the night sky against her red skin, the cream brocade of the chaise. The jewelry on her deep garnet horns glittered in the afternoon light. 

"Marian." Fjord stopped, then, apparently reaching the end of his wit for the afternoon. "Uh..." 

"We have to ask you for a teeny tiny favor," Jester said, plopping down on the chaise beside her mother. 

"Of course," said Marian. "What can I do for you? Friends of Jester's are friends of mine." 

Fjord didn't say anything. He was clearly exhausted and unready to fight for what charisma he did have. 

"We need to charter a ship to Tal'Dorei," Beau said finally, shouldering to the front of the group. 

"Oh my," said Marian, tapping a knuckle on her chin. "That will be expensive."

"We were wondering," Fjord said, jumping back into the conversation, "if we could borrow the gold from you. We'll pay it off, with interest, when we return to Zadash."

Marian sat back, considering. "Why would you want a loan from me? There are plenty of reputable people who could do the same."

Fjord shrugged, apparently pushing past his exhaustion to persuade Marian. "We don't know those people."

"You don't know me," she said, dark brows raising. She was enjoying this, Jester could tell, but nobody else seemed to notice. 

"Jester does. Anyone Jester trusts, we trust." Beau stepped up to stand beside Fjord. 

Marian smiled. "Alright. How much do you need? What kind of interest are we talking?"

Over the next hour, they hashed it out. Passage on a ship, a little extra so they could eat once they landed in Tal'Dorei, and a generously small interest. 

"I'll earn this much over again in a month," Marian said, insisting that she give them the money outright. 

"We asked for a loan, not a gift," Fjord said. "I insist that we pay it back, with a _little_ interest."

Finally, she conceded. She and Fjord stood, shook hands over the low table at which they'd sat. 

"Move quickly and you might be able to leave with the morning tide," she said, readjusting the laces of her bodice. Jester knew it was mostly for show, but her mother liked the way the faux-corset clung to her generous body. 

"Thank you," he said. 

"Jester's old room is always available," she said, "Though it might be a little small for all of you." 

"We'd _love_ to stay in my old room," Jester said. 

"True, we don't want word getting back to the Empire," Fjord said. 

"Fjord, you and Beau and go get a ship," Jester said, latching onto Caduceus. "And I'll get everyone else set up and catch up with you!"

"Sounds good," Beau said. "Yeah?"

A chorus of mumbled agreements came from the rest of the group. 

Fjord and Beau left the way they came, ducking behind a tapestry and vanishing down the stairs. Leaping to her feet, Jester gathered up the rest of them and herded them down the hall and into her room. It was a little way, but Jester didn't care. She was old enough now that she didn't get many strange looks.

On her own, anyway. When she was moving a throng of people from one room to another, there were a number of questioning glances from customers and courtesans alike. 

Nott tugged on her skirt, telling her to bend down so she could whisper. "Are we being stared at?" 

"It is technically a brothel, technically." Jester stood up, keeping them moving the whole while. 

"So....?"

"They probably think you guys are all customers, except Molly maybe. There's mostly no humans or small folk working here, mostly."

On the way by, a young man in the hall whistled at them, low and amazed. His eyes were wide. 

Jester wiggled her fingers at him, grinning playfully, and he looked away. She laughed. It had always been fun to tease the customers, even when she was younger. Seeing a child run through the halls of a brothel was jarring for most people. Even before the Traveler, Jester had thrived off of pranks and jokes and games. 

She shuffled everyone into her room and locked the door behind. It was the only door in the entire building that locked from the inside. None of the service rooms had locks at all; no one wanted to deal with the possibility of an employee being locked in alone if a customer was... unsavory. The pantry and various closets locked from the outside. As a kid, she'd been beyond proud that her door locked _properly_. 

"Okay!" 

Jester turned to her gaggle of nervous friends, planting both hands on her generous hips. 

"There's a bed, and a window bed, and we can take a bunch of pillows and put them on the floor, too." 

Yasha sat down on the edge of the bed. It was big, and old. Secondhand from when the house had changed them all out, so it was big enough for at least three people to spread out comfortably. It was also drowning in a downy comforter and a sea of pillows. 

Nott climbed up on the empty desk and sat there, nursing her flask. Her yellow eyes fixed blearily on the window. The window looked over the north side of Nicodranas, where the city proper gave way to shantytowns and thick, marshy woods. The mattress just beneath it was heaped with blankets and pillows. 

Molly threw himself onto it, almost disappearing under a collapsing pile of cushions. With one hand, Caduceus cleared them away and sat beside him. 

"There's a door to the staff's hallways behind that curtain," she said. 

She waited, hoping for questions. It was a little awkward just standing there, but nobody seemed to have enough energy to ask questions. Molly was barely awake by the look of it. 

"Okay, if you need anything while I'm gone, poke your head in there and ask someone," she said. "I have to go make sure Fjord and Beau haven't gotten themselves lost. I'll be back!"

Jester ducked behind the curtain, through the door, and left her friends to their own devices. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: Jester (and her mom btw) is thicc  
> Minor obsession #372: teiflings wearing an obscene amount of horn jewelry. it's like Peter Nureyev and The Earring, yk?? its a cue for the audience that they're Sexy and Extra. 
> 
> Anyway how do you write big ass group scenes wtf -  
> you know what they're all exhausted from walking for days, and Jester isn't super observant so *shrug* you get what you get.


	26. And Not a Drop to Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title in honor of the poem by Samuel Taylor Colerige, "the Rime of the Ancient Mariner," (Rhyme in modern english), and the Long Ass Boat Ride the gang is about to take.  
> 

Jester caught them in the crowd on the main street, and led them with sure directions to the docks. It was difficult to find a boat going all the way to Tal'Dorei, but finally Beau heard a sailor complaining about the long time they'd be at sea. 

She grabbed him by the arm and picked the information out of him, and finally they booked passage on a ship. It was headed all the way around the world before coming back to Wildemount, making several stops at ports in Tal'Dorei. Apparently, the captain was an insufferable explorer who didn't care about the profit on his voyages. 

When they'd secured their spot on _the Lady Undersea,_ Jester led them back to the house and up into her room. Everyone else was already settled in for the night, clearly exhausted from their weeks of walking. 

Beau claimed the spot beside Yasha and immediately fell asleep. She didn't even look at what the others were doing. 

\--

When dawn broke, Nott was shaken awake by Fjord. As the sun rose, they said farewell to Jester's mother and tramped across the city to board the ship that would take them to Tal'Dorei. 

Nott didn't like the way it swayed. Maybe it was just her haven't-had-enough-to-drink-yet headache, but she already felt queasy. Spending weeks on such unsteady ground made her wish she had snuck more booze into her bag. 

\--

Caduceus missed the earth. Three days since he'd seen land on the horizon, and he dreamed of the garden where he'd grown up. The flowers, the herbs. The stone temple rising from it like an island from the sea, and the firm, steady earth beneath his feet. 

\--

Beau was going stir crazy. A week since they'd left, but it felt like a year. There was only so much she could meditate and shadowbox without losing her mind. 

Finally, she went to the captain and asked him to give her a job. He did, and it was marginally better, but everyone else on the crew avoided her like the plague. It would have been better if they were out for a fight, because then she would have gotten some damn catharsis. 

She did her work and waited for land to rise on the horizon. 

\--

Three weeks, and Fjord was ready to go back to hearing petty suits and wearing Molly's face. It was so, so much better than hearing a monster in his head each night, waking up choking, and keeping out of the crew's business. He'd had enough of being a sailor. 

At least this ship was big enough that they didn't have to bunk with the crew. There were enough cabins that, if they grouped into fours, they could share. 

Beau seemed happy to join the crew during the day, though. He was glad that at least one of them was keeping busy. 

\--

Yasha felt guilty for wishing for a storm. She knew they sank ships and ruined cargo, killed hundreds at sea, but it had been more than a month since she'd been in one. She hadn't gone so long without the Storm Lord's thunderous voice in her ear, without the crackle of electricity and the pounding of rain, for a long time. 

She just hoped that they reached Tal'Dorei soon. 

\--

Jester was sick. The incessant rocking of the boat didn't agree with her, and she'd spent the past six weeks on a sliding scale between "vaguely nauseous" and "heaving over the side." Always, the invisible hand of the Traveler lay on her back. Often, Caduceus held back her hair and offered gingery tea that he'd gotten who knows where. 

She took it gratefully, tucking herself against the side of the deck. Caduceus sat with her between the barrels and crates. 

They did that so many times that Jester lost count. 

\--

Caleb was reading. It was the same book that Jester had given him the morning they set sail. He was searching for the reason she'd given it to him, wondering what he was supposed to learn from a fluffy romance novel. There was very little of substance, but there was an interesting spell used that he'd never seen before. A dimension door of sorts, except it led into a pocket dimension furnished like a small mansion, rather than to another spot on the material plane. 

Without noticing, he jostled the fat candle burning on the desk before him. He did notice when it fell onto his arm, spattering hot wax across his shirt, hand, and open book. The flame licked at his shirt, catching against the quickly cooling wax. 

He righted the candle carefully, then stood and peeled off his shirt. He'd have to fix the book first, do his best to scrape the wax off so that Jester wouldn't be angry with him. If he wasn't careful, he'd scrape away some of the ink. 

He wondered which would be worse; scraping words away or leaving wax stuck to the pages. 

Leaving such a mess wasn't an option, so he scraped at the wax droplets with his fingernails. It should really have been done with a calligrapher's knife, but Caleb's hands shook every time he thought about picking one up. 

The wax came off easily, in white flakes that piled onto the desk like snow. 

When he had cleaned it all off, he closed the book and turned to his shirt. There was a constellation of spattered wax and a singed section on the sleeve. It had also been a gift, new from the king. Caleb worked at the cooled wax. It had sunk clean through the tightly woven fabric, so even if he scraped it all off, the shirt wouldn't be the same. There was nothing to be done about the singed part.

As he worked at it, there was a knock on the door. After a pause, it opened slowly.

Fjord, ducking just a little to fit into the cabin. 

Why did he knock every time, even when it was only Caleb inside? Knocking for Nott and Molly, he understood. It was perplexing, though, that Fjord knocked when he _knew_ that only Caleb would be inside. 

Caleb put the soiled shirt on the desk, folding his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking. He'd ruined a gift. It would only be worse if he tried to hide it. 

He could feel Fjord moving through the cabin behind him. 

"Caleb?"

He tried in vain to keep his shoulders from tensing up. Fjord was only a few steps away from him, and he didn't dare turn around. 

"Is that a tattoo?"

"Yes, Fjord," he said. He'd forgotten about it, but now he was painfully aware of the ink. He didn't even know what it looked like. Only that it was there. 

"Is it - it looks arcane," said Fjord, behind him. 

"I do not know what it does," he said, fighting to keep his body under control. Fjord didn't like it when he shook, and he was close enough now that he'd notice the slightest tremor. 

"How did you get it?"

Caleb could answer that question. "Master Ikithon gave it to me."

"Do you know why?"

"I do not," he said. It had been foolish to hope that all of Fjord's questions would be easily answered. 

"Is there a way that you could figure out what it does?"

"If I could see it," Caleb said. "If I knew the shape, I could guess." 

"I can describe it to you," Fjord said. "Would that work?"

"Ah, it may," Caleb said. Would Fjord trace it across his back? Keep his place with two fingertips? 

"Okay." Fjord stepped closer, the boards creaking beneath his feet. "There are three circles, two inside a larger one like the rings of a tree."

A gateway. Or a lock, perhaps. Passage between two places. 

Caleb's stomach knotted up tight. 

Fjord didn't touch him. 

"There's a continuous line of arcane letters between the first and outermost rings. Six letters, repeated in the same order."

Depending on which letters they were, he could be tied to anything. To anyone. 

"There's a- a kind of sigil, I think, in the center. Almost like a star that's been melted."

Sound. A sonic connection to.. what? to _who?_

"The space between the two inner rings is empty."

That made sense. He hadn't heard anything but his own surroundings since he got the tattoo. The space that Fjord described as empty was the place that connected Caleb to the other sigil. If it had been left blank, it made a one-way wiretap into Caleb's senses. 

Well, just one sense. Probably. 

Fjord waited. Caleb gathered up his words, arranging them so that they wouldn't anger him too much. 

"It's a communication circle," he said. "It connects my senses to someone else's." 

Fjord took in a surprised breath. "Who?"

"I don't know." Caleb knew who it _probably_ was, but probabilities were useless. The only things that mattered were what he knew and what he didn't. 

"Do you you have an idea?"

"It might be Master Ikithon," Caleb said, squeezing his eyes shut. 

The boat rocked beneath them. Caleb felt sick. 

Caleb heard Fjord turn around and walk across the cabin. 

"Caleb," he said. "I'm going to ask you a question. You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Caleb nodded. 

"Was it Master Ikithon that - that gave you those scars?"

"Yes, Fjord." 

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

Silence fell. Caleb barely breathed, listening for Fjord's next movement, next question. But he said nothing, did nothing, for a long time. 

Finally, he spoke like he might break.

"I'm so sorry, Caleb." 

Fjord left, boards creaking beneath his feet. Caleb didn't turn to watch him close the door. 

Caleb felt like a betrayer. 

Why had Fjord left? The only thing that Caleb could think was that he'd return with the king, and together they'd give discipline. He thought of Fjord holding him in a crushing grip, the king's purple fingernails carving loyalty into his body with bloody tracks. 

The thought stole the air from his lungs, set his heart racing. He sat and waited for the door to open again. He waited. And waited. And waited. 

When nothing came, Caleb seized upon the chance. 

He hoped that the king would keep him after this, even if he didn't deserve it. 

With a steadying breath, Caleb reached inside himself for the spell. 


	27. Might Save My Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: severe self-harm in this chapter.

Molly smelled burning. 

Given that he was on a boat, and had been for the past month and a half, it was not a promising smell. It took him a moment to place it. Acrid smoke, the intangible taste of heat on his tongue. 

It was wrong, somehow. Too sour, sitting in his mouth as though it would crawl back and choke him. 

He stood from his place, leaned over the side to watch the water part around the ship, and followed it. Though his heart raced, he told himself he was only curious. 

It wasn't curiosity that curled like a noose around his throat. 

\--

Caleb's knuckles were white on the back of the chair. His hands were beginning to cramp, but he knew better than to let go now. If he opened his hands, if he unclenched his jaw, he wouldn't have the strength to finish what he started. 

It didn't stop a strangled groan slipping out between his teeth. 

\--

Halfway to the lower deck, Molly's heart stopped. Recognition bolted through him like lightning.

That smell wasn't woodsmoke, tobacco, or candle flame. It wasn't Caduceus' dizzy, sweet-smelling smoke, or the ozone buzz of the god Yasha followed. 

It was the smell of meat, dropped by accident into a blazing campfire. It was the smell of burning flesh. 

\--

Caleb kept the incantation circling in his mind. He couldn't speak, he might have bitten his own tongue off if he tried, but the words were clear as glass in his mind. It took longer this way, but this way was the safest. No sound to alert passing crew, little magic spilling out for Jester or Caduceus to detect. 

Tears had welled up and overflowed, running down his face in protest of the spell that burned through him like acid. His spine bent of its own accord, trying to pull away. He gasped through his teeth, forcing himself to breathe. 

\--

Sprinting down the narrow hall, Molly slammed right into Fjord. 

"Molly?" Fjord put steadying hands on Molly's shoulders. "What's going on?"

"I smell," Molly gasped, "burning." 

Brow furrowed, Fjord took a drag for himself. His dark eyes went wide with realization. 

"Caleb," he said. 

Molly nodded. 

Together, they turned and ran. 

\--

Caleb was dizzy. He dropped his head between his shoulders, holding himself up with trembling arms. 

It hurt. it _hurt. God, it hurt._

\--

Fjord got there first. He flung the door open, and there was Caleb. Bent double, braced against the tiny chair, back glowing like a bed of live coals. 

"Caleb!"

Caleb threw a hand up, skin blotchy and fingers curled like they had cramped that way. 

Fjord's voice broke when he spoke. "Caleb, stop!" 

"It's... almost...done," Caleb hissed through clenched teeth. 

Fjord stopped then, halfway between Caleb and the door. Molly knew exactly what he was thinking. What could they do? Neither of them could do anything at all. 

They watched as the glow on Caleb's back died. His body slackened, clearly struggling to hold itself up. 

Before he could fall, Fjord stepped forward and caught him with one arm. He kept well away from Caleb's back, though he fell flush against Fjord's chest. 

"Caleb?" Molly felt sick. 

"He's passed out," Fjord said. 

"What- what do we-"

"Get the mattress on the lowest bunk." Fjord shifted Caleb in his arms, picking him up like a child. "Put it on the floor."

Molly grabbed the mattress, blankets and all, and yanked it onto the floor. He pushed it over to Fjord, blankets snagging on every splinter in the boards. 

"Help me lay him down," Fjord said. 

Together, they maneuvered so that Caleb lay on his stomach atop the blankets. Most of his back was a constellation of tiny, silvered scars and freckles, like stars pressed into his skin. Between his shoulder blades, as perfectly round as the moon, was a purple-red burn. 

Molly was no healer, but he could tell that it was bad. If he looked hard, he could see the line of Caleb's spine through the middle of the perfectly circular wound. His skin was blackened and flaking, muscle cooked clean through as far as Molly could tell. 

It was horrific. And Caleb had done it to _himself._

Molly knew that people hurt themselves. Hell, there was a lattice of scars on his _own_ skin, far too varied and numerous to be anything but his own hand. But Caleb had done more than that. He'd _brutalized_ himself. He had set a fire inside his own body and waited for it to chew through muscle, sinew, and skin before stopping.

Fjord gathered up Caleb's flame-red hair and tied it into a neat knot, much like Jester's. Caleb's hair wasn't quite long enough for it, though, and Fjords hands shook so that he tried five times before it stayed. 

"Molly, go - go get- "

Fjord couldn't finish. He didn't look up, didn't look away from Caleb, but Molly heard the rawness in his voice. 

"Okay," he said, backing up carefully. "I'll be right back."

Molly left, closed the door behind him, and ran. 

\--

Jester had never been so grateful to see land. It rose gray and white on the horizon, a snowy line of continent less than a day from their current position. They'd sleep on solid ground that night. In an inn, perhaps, or maybe they'd start chasing - what had Fjord called it?- _Vox Machina_. 

It was exhilarating. They'd be back to their adventuring days, with a new story to chase and a new continent to see. 

Molly burst onto the deck. He looked half-mad, but Jester didn't get worried until he grabbed her arm in a bruising grip. 

"Go see Fjord," he said, panting. "In our cabin."

"Okay," she said. "you have to let go of me, though."

"Oh, I - sorry," he said, dropping his hand. 

"What's wrong?"

"It's - uh, it's Caleb," he said, eyes flickering from place to place. What was he looking for? 

Well, if he'd come for her... 

"Caduceus is up with the captain," she said. "I'm sure he'd be happy to come help, too."

Molly nodded and headed across the deck. He'd probably spotted Caduceus' pink head towering above the captain's mousy, human one. 

Jester rubbed at her arm as she headed belowdecks, wondering what could have gotten Molly so worked up. 

\--

Beau really, really hated being the last to know about things. So when she spotted Molly, looking half crazed, send Jester belowdecks and follow with Caduceus, she clambered out of the rigging and followed as well. 

Everyone vanished into the cabin that the boys shared, closing the door behind. 

Curiosity burned in her. She'd never been good at denying herself, despite the Cobalt Soul's efforts. 

She knocked at the door before opening it. 

"Hey," she said, sticking her head in, "what's going - oh _shit."_

Caleb lay facedown on a mattress, Jester and Caduceus both spreading softly glowing hands over his back. The scent of mint and chamomile filled the little cabin. 

Beneath Jester and Caduceus' hands, Caleb's back was blistered and peeling. A perfectly circular burn sat like the full moon between his shoulder blades. 

"Beau," Fjord said. His voice was cracked and tired. "It's - it's okay, I think." 

"He'll be just fine," Caduceus said, looking over with a reassuring smile. "It is a pretty bad burn, but nothing Jester and I can't handle." 

Fjord nodded, accepting. He sat with his back against the cabin wall, arms propped on his knees. 

Beau took a spot beside him. "What happened?"

Fjord shook his head mutely. 

Beau left it at that. If Fjord didn't want to talk, she wouldn't make him. He'd come around eventually. Until then, she could sit with him and make sure he didn't do anything stupid. 

\--

Caleb woke up with his face pressed to the soft creases of a blanket. Low voices surrounded him. Two sets of fingertips rested carefully on his back. 

His breath died in his lungs. 

He'd put up a hand to stop Fjord from giving him an instruction. Worse, he'd acted _without_ an instruction. 

Now he would pay the price. 

He waited. Waited for the fingertips to turn over, for nails to dig beneath his skin. He waited for another burn to light against his body, for hot wax to drip against his face. He waited. And waited. 

The fingertips lifted away. The voices had gone quiet. 

He waited. He wasn't able to stop his body from tensing, to stop his eyes from squeezing shut. 

"Cay-leb?"

Jester. He opened his eyes, waiting for an instruction, an admonishment, anything. He could see her blue wrist, her hands laying in her lap, her green skirts spread out over the floor, hiding her boots. 

"How are you feeling?"

"I am..." He thought for a second. The skin of his back felt tight, like it might split if he moved wrong. His eyes were gummy with exertion and sleep. 

"I am fine, Jester," he said. 

He laid there, wondering if he was meant to stay down or get up. 

"Do you want some tea?" 

This question came from Caduceus, on his other side. His gravelly voice was calm. Unreadable. 

"I- if that is alright," he said. Fear knotted up in his stomach. What had he done to deserve the offer? Was it an offer, or a test? Had been supposed to refuse? 

Was Caduceus the kind that offered, then followed through by splashing the tea, scalding hot, across his body? 

"Why don't you sit up so you can drink it," Caduceus said. 

Caleb picked himself up, sitting on his knees between Jester and Caduceus. 

Caduceus pushed a cup into his hands. 

"Drink slowly," he said. "It's still hot." 

Cautiously, Caleb drank. 

It was sweet and mellow. It tasted like a faint, golden summer, barely remembered. Hand-me-down shirts and wildflowers, his mother's skirts sweeping the well-worn floor. Cicadas buzzing through the honeyed night. 

Caleb gripped the cup so hard he thought it might break. He didn't care. He felt like crying. He felt like drowning in that hazy, distant memory. 

A chasm of want opened up in his chest. It hollowed him out like hunger, choked him like thirst. He wanted. He _wanted._ He wanted his mother back. His father. He wanted Astrid, her graceful hands leading him through the music. He wanted his little sister and his brother, the rolling farmland of his hometown. He wanted to live inside that memory, to die there, and sleep beneath the wildflowers while the ghost of his childhood played in the sunlight. 

Shaking, he squashed it. So he was hollow. So he was greedy, and selfish, and useless. He got to be all those things. He _didn't_ get to want what he didn't deserve. 

A lavender hand curled around his wrist, gentle as velvet. 

"Caleb." The king, knelt before him, long curls escaping their knot and falling down his shoulders. "Will you tell us what happened? Why you - why you hurt yourself?"

Caleb nodded. "Yes, I - I will, Molly." 

With the hand not held in the king's, he put the cup down. As much as he wanted to get lost in the memory it dredged up, he couldn't. 

Laying his free hand on his lap, beside the one curled inside the king's grasp, Caleb gathered up his words. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the Kimya Dawson song "fire," in which one of the repeating lines is "someone called out "hey stop drop and roll"/I said "that might save my skin, but it won't save my soul.""  
> It's a fantastic Caleb song, and is actually on the character playlist made by Liam O'Brien (he's a man of taste).
> 
> You can pry Long Haired Molly from my cold, dead hands. He's got curls like Jester, and likes to have it braided but won't do it himself. 
> 
> I had to split this chapter in half because DAMN that's a high word count


	28. But It Won't Save My Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: references to the last chapter and contemplation of murder

The king held Caleb's hand with a gentleness that he did not deserve. As he'd gathered up the words, translated them back and forth in his mind until they were safe and pliable, the king's fingers had migrated from his wrist to his hand. They curled gently in his palm, delicate as a bird. 

"The tattoo was - was a communication circle," he began. "An open line. Everything I heard was also heard by - by someone else."

"Do you know -" Jester cut off abruptly with a yelp "- Hey!" 

"Let him talk," Beau hissed from the corner. 

Jester had one hand pressed to her forehead. Clearly, Beau had sacrificed one of her bangles to throw at Jester, and had hit her mark square between the eyes. 

"It probably, probably was my - was Trent Ikithon," Caleb said, gambling on what she had been about to ask. It wasn't a great risk, but it still made his lungs seize with nerves, waiting to see her reaction. 

"Oh," she said, thoughtful. She tapped a blue knuckle against her chin. 

Caleb waited. He was aware of his fingertips on the king's pulse, his hand laid palm-down to Caleb's. 

Daring to look up, he saw something burning dark in the king's eyes. His other hand clenched in the loose fabric of his coat. The look on his face was savage. 

Caleb stilled. His heart sped up, fear knotting up his insides, each and every muscle tensing until he trembled with it. 

"Molly!" Jester gave him a pointed look. "You're scaring Caleb!" 

"I'm sorry," said the king, softening his face into a smile. "I'm not upset with you. I promise."

Caleb nodded. He wasn't sure what to think. He was tired, and his back smarted, and he was nearly dizzy with exhaustion of several kinds. He couldn't have cleared his head if he wanted to. 

"Go on," the king said. "If you wish."

Caleb nodded again, mechanically. 

"The easiest, the safest, way to - to undo a spell is to destroy the - the material on which it's been - been cast." His accent thickened the more he stuttered, until it was an effort to keep talking in Common. Zemnian words crowded up under his tongue, so he shut his mouth. 

Nervous, he swiped his tongue over his cracked, scabbed bottom lip. It stung. 

The king's eyebrows rose. "So you _burned your skin off?"_

"I- I am sorry, I-" 

"No, no, that isn't what I meant." the king pulled his hand away. Inexplicably, it left Caleb colder, provoked the bone-deep hunger in him. He wanted the king's hand to come back, to rest gently on his forever. 

He squashed it. The king would do as he saw fit, and Caleb didn't get to wish for anything different. 

Jester leaned forward, uncomprehending. "But why did you hurt yourself, Cay-leb?"

"I... It was the easiest way," he said. "The fastest way. I didn't have to - to wait for another tattoo to n-n-neutralize it, and - and keep -keep -keep leaking information. You are - are safe from me n-n-now." 

She sat back, a tiny "oh" escaping her mouth. 

From the other side, Caleb heard Caduceus put his cup on the floor. 

"That burn needs another healing," he said in his warm, gravelly voice. "Hold still, now..." 

\--

Molly was ready to murder Trent Ikithon. He would tear the bastard apart with his bare hands, dig apologies out of him and then kill him anyway, and after it all he'd leave his body out for the crows. 

All the while, he'd make sure that Ikithon knew he'd died as payment for all the pain he'd caused Caleb Widogast. Caleb, who lit up at the sight of the complex arcana worked into Molly's skin. Caleb, who stuttered when he spoke Common. Caleb, who solved any problem put in front of him, no matter the cost. 

Molly watched Caduceus mutter a spell over Caleb's slowly healing back, wiry hands glowing warmly. Caleb's head was bent, hair slipping out of the careful knot Fjord had tied there. There were tear tracks dried down his face. His shoulders shook with a storm of small tremors. 

His hands lay open, palm-up, in his lap. 

His body was riddled with scars. Not cuts, like Molly's, but old burns and messy scrapes, ragged tears healed over many times. As he looked, he saw that among the freckles on Caleb's face there was a scattering of old, silvered burns, each one as tiny as a grain of salt. 

\--

Nott had been saving her last mouthful of whiskey for almost two months. 

She drank it as the ship anchored at the dock in Emon, sputtering as they lurched to a full stop. All but throwing herself onto the solid, steady pier, she didn't bother to wait for the rest of her group. They were quite used to her vanishing at the drop of a hat. 

She didn't go far, though. The ship loomed over the quay, and she kept to its shadow, despite having to dodge and weave between the legs of tall folk to stay there. 

After months at sea, she swayed of her own accord, though the stone quay was steady beneath her. 

\--

The crew shooed them out of the cabin. Fjord let Jester lead the way, keeping to the back of the group. Caleb hadn't put his shirt back on, and nobody had had the heart to force him.

Before they got to the upper deck, Molly draped the long colorful coat, which he'd picked up on their way out of Nicodranas, over Caleb's bare shoulders. Cautiously, Caleb pulled it closed, like a patchwork cloak. 

Molly put an arm around him, and Caleb shuffled up against his side obediently. 

Something inside Fjord's chest growled. It was a nasty thing, slimy and guilty.

Still, it growled, and all Fjord could do was ignore it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The M9, to Caleb: I don't know how to tell you that you should care about your own wellbeing and emotional needs  
> \--
> 
> Fjord, to himself: It would be morally irresponsible to be attracted to this traumatized wizard. Im not gonna do it. thats that. period. End Of Story.  
> Fjord, five minutes later: Oh no oh fuck I'm attracted to the traumatized wizard


	29. Chasing a Voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Emon is on the far side of the continent from Wildemount. Yes, I know only half an episode's worth about Emon. I have no idea what I'm doing and you can't stop me.  
> Warning for this chapter: .... sexism. kind of.

They were called _Vox Machina,_ and it had been years since they had disbanded. 

Fjord had heard the stories whispered over drinks, sailors telling tales of heroes until they'd drunk themselves sick. He'd heard stories true and untrue, stories of all kinds, but the legend of _Vox Machina_ was one that circled too far, with too much consistency, to be entirely false. 

He just didn't know how much truth was in it. 

Emon was a bustling city. At least, what Fjord could see of it was bustling; they hadn't gotten very far in. Most of them swayed on their feet after months at sea, and Fjord was tempted to let everyone have a nap before they started searching. 

"I vote," said Beau, looking dizzy, "we find an in and some drinks first, chase legends later."

"Seconded," Nott said, fingering the cap of her flask absently. 

"Thirded," Jester said, throwing arms around Yasha's waist and leaning her entire weight onto her. 

Indulgently, Yasha picked Jester up and settled her on her shoulder. She steadied Jester with one hand to her hip. 

"Thank you, Yasha," said Jester, patting Yasha's head. 

Yasha smiled softly. Aside from Fjord, she was the steadiest on her feet. 

"Alright, let's find an inn," said Fjord. "We can talk over some hot food." 

Molly, Caleb still tucked against his side, nodded. "That sounds like a great idea." 

It wasn't far to the nearest inn. A shabby but clean establishment with tables crowded into the front room, a collection of shabby looking people at the tables. Nobody batted an eye at their odd group, even though Jester still rode on Yasha's shoulder and Molly still held onto Caleb like he was afraid he'd disappear. Or like he'd hurt himself again. 

Fjord paid for a couple of rooms, ordered some drinks, and some food to go with. Yasha and Beau shepherded the rest of the group to an empty table. 

\--

Once Jester had some food in her, she felt alright enough to spot a card game running on the other side of the room. 

"I'll be right back, you guys," she said, standing. 

She felt Beau keep one eye on her from the table, but it was a comfortable kind of watching. They looked out for each other. It wasn't suffocating; she knew that Beau would only step in if it got nasty. 

"Hello!" She sidled up to the table. "What're you playing?"

One of the men eyed her. "You wouldn't know it." 

"I learn quick," she said, letting her beetle-black eyes open wide and innocent. 

After a moment's deliberation, two of the players scooted over so she could slip between them. She did, and fluffed her skirts around her legs before looking up eagerly. This was part of the game, even if the men at the table didn't know it. 

One by one, they turned their cards in and split the pot back up. 

"Alright, girlie," said the man just across from her, shuffling so quickly the cards blurred in his hands. "Ante in." 

"How much?" She reached for her purse, letting the shoulder of her blouse slip out from under the strap of her bodice. She felt eyes on the slice of her sky-blue skin. 

"Two silver," he said, dealing five hands with equal skill. 

She put two silver on the table, and watched the rest of the players follow suit. 

"Six cards, three rounds. Each round, you get to trade in cards and get different ones back. Before you trade, you bet. Got it?"

"What's a winning hand look like?"

He kept talking fast, scraping by with as little explanation as possible. "flush, straight, pairs two through ace, triple ace. Got it?"

"I think so," she said. She twisted her face as though she was hiding her confusion. Best to let them think she was a fool, that they could scam her for a little extra silver. 

The table was trying to play her. Unfortunately for them, she was a shark. 

They should have known by the teeth. 

The first hand, she lost. Badly. Acting the perfect fool, she kept betting higher and higher, winning just enough that the other players could assume that she was unlucky and stupid. They didn't see her fingers dance under the table, changing the cards as they were dealt. 

She felt the Traveler smile over her shoulder. 

Hand after hand, she bet until she had cleaned out her purse. Finally, she had barely enough left for one last hand. 

The first round, she raised. Traded in for an ace, magically pulled from the deck. 

The second round, the player to her left froze the bet. She traded in for another ace, the only one she needed. There were three in her hand then, the best possible combination. 

Satisfied with her hand, she decided to poke at the table a little. "Have any of you fellas heard of Vox Machina?" 

"Why?" An older man with a grizzled beard peered at her with his one good eye. "lookin' for someone to kill a god for you?" 

_Kill a god?_ A chill shivered down her spine. 

The bet came back to her before she had the chance to ask more questions. 

Suppressing a bubble of mischievous joy, she pushed her measly pile of coins into the pot. 

"All in," she sang, grinning. If she'd played it right, a couple of things would happen in short order. A few might fold, and the others would follow her and go all in. Her smile was calculated to be just bright enough to look like she was on a gambling rush, like so many tourists in Nicodranas. 

The old man and the dealer folded. The other two, however, pushed their piles into the pot. By her count, she'd break even and then make a profit of maybe thirty gold. Minimum. 

Jester and the two remaining players, a young man with a somber face and a weathered sailor with a squint, looked at each other for a beat. The sailor was grinning like he'd won, but the somber young man stayed just as somber as he'd been for the last half hour. 

Jester let her face break into a grin. She laid her hand out, letting the cards speak for themselves. 

Triple ace, and high cards besides. 

The sailor threw his cards onto the table and stood up. They scattered over the table, showing that he had all four kings. A lucky hand.

To bad she'd been luckier. She grinned wide, showing just how sharp her canines were. 

Carefully, the young man put down his hand. He had the last ace, but no pairs, no straight, and no flush. 

Jester stood, scooping up the pile of coins. 

"Luck of the draw, boys," she said, pocketing the coin. "Thanks!"

She waltzed away to the tune of the Traveler's invisible laughter. With a snap of her fingers, she returned the extra coin to the disgruntled players' pockets.

Back at her table, she settled between Fjord and Yasha, the scariest looking members of the group. Despite the fact that they'd shortly find their money back in their pockets, she wasn't eager to get chased out by the locals. 

\--

The next morning, Nott slipped out and did what she did best. Gathered information in taverns and bars all over the city. She'd have liked to see the others try to do her job, but alas, there was work to do. She'd drag the story out of Fjord or Beau when they got back to the inn. 

\--

Fjord found out quickly that they'd have to pick what part of Vox Machina they wanted to chase. Lord and Lady De Rolo or the Voice of the Tempest? Given what he'd heard of Scanlan Shorthalt, it was probably a bad idea to go chasing him. Just imagining him and Nott in the same room gave Fjord a stress headache. He was not ready to deal with a catfight of that caliber. 

Given that she was married to Scanlan Shorthalt, the Champion of Sarenrae was probably a bad choice as well. 

So. The De Rolos, or the Voice of the Tempest? 

He'd talk to the others about it once he got back. Pooling their information and making a plan of action would be that night's activity. Hopefully by the next morning, they'd be a step closer to getting back to Zadash. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I noticed some of you noticing the burgeoning love triangle in the last chapter, and I have since updated the tags. Now, my boy is nowhere near stable enough for a relationship, but that won't stop the pining!!!!!!!!!  
> Side relationships will be defined when there's space for it in the narrative. Trust me, we're getting Everyone involved.
> 
> Card Shark Jester steal my moneys
> 
> Are you ready to see Vox Machina?????????? I know I am!!!!!!!!!


	30. Whitestone

When Vex slid into bed, it was always with a grateful, exhausted sigh. 

That particular night, Percy was already tucked in, a book open on his lap. It was an unexpected treat; Percy kept later hours than her. Though Vex indulged her love of deep sleep at every opportunity, Percy had never gotten comfortable sleeping for more than a few hours a night. After many talks, they'd settled on a compromise. Percy would read when he couldn't sleep, and Vex wouldn't have to drag him out of the workshop every night. 

Still, more often than not, he lost track of time while he worked. Vex was too exhausted to do much except sleep once the children were put to bed, so on those nights he ended up sneaking into bed guiltily. 

She always kissed him the next morning, so he would know that she wasn't too upset. 

Those long workshop nights were becoming fewer, though. Nearly three times a week, he'd get into bed the same time that she did, and it warmed her heart to see how hard he was trying. 

He closed his book when she climbed under the covers. Setting it aside, he put his glasses down and took one of her hands in his. 

"Vesper's starting to understand what bedtime is," Vex said, yawning. 

"I'm sure she feels that it's quite the injustice," said Percy. 

Vex hummed in agreement. "I'm trying to spin it into a competition, but the twins are too young -" she yawned again "- I think, to understand bedtime _or_ competitions." 

"Perhaps there's another angle," he said. "Let's try a new one tomorrow, hmm?" 

Vex hummed again, leaning against his shoulder sleepily. 

"You know," she said, "it feels like adventuring should have given me the stamina to deal with these little monsters, but dealing with a _titan_ was easier than parenting."

"Parenting is a marathon, my love," said Percy. "Vasselheim was a sprint. This one goes on for a long, long time."

"At least, if we do it right," said Vex. 

"If we do it right," he agreed. 

He leaned his head onto hers for a moment. It was early for him, but drowsiness fell over him like dusk over the sky. 

He picked them both up. 

"Come on, let's lay down properly," he said. "Or else we'll wake up with a pair of backaches and stiff necks." 

Vex hummed again, half asleep already. Percy laid her gently onto her pillow, tucking the covers up around her, and then curled himself around her. Her arms wound around his waist like a vice.

When he fell asleep, his smile was the last thing to drift away.

\--

Percy woke to an empty bed and the sight of Vex pulling on her trousers. 

"Sorry, darling, didn't mean to wake you," she said, smiling at him as she laced the waistband tight. "Someone's causing a ruckus downstairs."

She reached for her shirt. He thought it was the one Kima had given her for Winter's Crest, but he couldn't spot the distinctive embroidery without his glasses on. 

While Vex belted her tunic atop the shirt, Percy fumbled for his glasses. He managed to get them on, though one lens was terribly smudged, as she pulled on her boots. 

"Go back to bed, Darling. I'll take care of it." Vex gave him a kiss, and she winked when she pulled away. "Besides, Vesper will get you up eventually." 

Vex left him still in bed, glasses slightly askew. 

\--

Vex found the ruckus in the form of at least five gurads crowded at the front door. A number of them were shouting. 

"What's going on here?" 

She stood back a ways, hands planted on hips. 

The throng of guards parted, and one of them approached with a bow. "My lady, there are... visitors, demanding to be let in-"

A tiny, black-cloaked shape slipped out from behind the guards, sidling along the wall. It stopped when it noticed Vex's gaze. White porcelain showed from under the shadow of the hood, framed by stringy, dark hair. 

As Vex looked closer, she could have sworn that a pair of enormous yellow eyes peered back at her. 

Vex itched to have her bow, but she'd already gotten into it. There was no running for a weapon now, even if it was only to ease her anxiety. 

Besides, there was only one thing to do about that tiny shape sidling into her foyer. 

In a flash, Vex was across the room, the black cloak gripped in one hand. The little figure whirled, porcelain mask dropping, and bared a mouthful of jagged teeth, hissing and spitting like a particularly offended cat. 

Vex held her at arm's length. A goblin, clad in mostly black, spat curse words at her with the speed of bullets from a gun. 

"Let me talk to them, boys," Vex said, approaching the guards between her and the door. 

Immediately, they cleared a path. In the door was a group of strangers with a familiar look about them. A half-Orc with a shock of white hair, a pair of tieflings, a couple of humans. All of them looking tired and rumpled, and like they'd been walking for days. 

It was so easy to remember, when she looked at them. Those early adventures that left Vox Machina just as tired and rumpled, the days they did nothing but walk, the weeks in the underdark, the days they struggled to find a friendly face. 

"Come in," she said. "Though you'll end up inside whether I invite you or not, I suspect." 

One of the tieflings, a woman with sky blue skin and beetle-black eyes, led the way. She grinned brightly, showing off her pearly white, too-sharp canines. 

"Thank you, Lady De Rolo," she said. 

Vex raised an eyebrow. Her accent was... odd. And very, very thick. 

A lavender tiefling followed, his arm wrapped protectively around a bony human man. After that was two women, who both looked mostly human, though one was just _too big_ to be a full blood human. A Firbolg so tall he had to duck through the door, and finally the half-Orc. 

There was something odd about him. It took Vex a minute to notice that he didn't have tusks. 

Keeping the spitting, kicking goblin aloft, Vex led them into the dining room. As she passed, she grabbed a guard with her free hand. 

"Let my husband know that our guests and I are in the dining room," she said. 

The guard nodded, heading off down another hall. 

Once they were all in the dining room, Vex closed the door. As carefully as she could, she put the goblin down. Immediately, she skittered across the floor and scaled the one of the humans to sit indignantly on her shoulder. 

"Now then," said Vex, sitting down. "I'm sure you've got quite a story. You've got that look about you." 

"Well, Lady De Rolo, we -"

The blue tiefling woman cut off the half-Orc in excitement. "We're adventurers!" 

"Okay," said Vex, steering the conversation to the next piece of information she needed. The blue tiefling looked... distractible. "I think I'd like to know your names, please."

There was a pause. None of them seemed to want to go first.

Finally, the half-Orc spoke first, shooting his companions a disappointed look. 

"My name is Fjord." 

"Beau." 

"I'm Jester!"

"...Molly."

"I'm Caduceus Clay, my lady." 

"I'm... Yasha." 

"Nott." 

Molly nudged the man beside him. He tensed up just slightly. 

"Ah, my name is Caleb Widogast, my lady." 

"Well," said Vex, hoping Percy would come down soon. "Why don't you tell me why you're all here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dad gave me a pile of 3.5e books (phb, dmg, the guidebooks for faerūn and the forgotten realms) and you better believe I dug through all of them. There were no warlocks, no rare races, and no defined backgrounds??? It was so weird  
> also I got all his old sheets for his npcs and pcs, and his old DM notes. I'm planning to incorporate a l l of them into the family campaign. 
> 
> there is so much comedic potential in this set of facts. 1) Vex and Percy are level 20 and literally strong enough to kill a god. 2) the m9 have seven collective braincells and most of them belong to Fjord. 3) Nott has really, really, really bad luck. 
> 
> Mama Bear Vex'ahlia owns my entire heart


	31. Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know what to put as a warning for this chapter. just.... be careful with your spellwork, friends. Sometimes it goes really wrong.

Percy was worried about their guests. To be fair, he worried about nearly everything, but there was something doubly strange about them. They reminded him too much of Vox Machina, of the early days when Vex first found him. It was odd. He saw himself reflected in them, and it was an uncomfortable feeling.

For all their strangeness, they didn't seem dangerous. Not to them, anyway. He, Vex, and the guards could maneuver their way out of a goddamned _seige_ if they wanted to. A ragtag group of foreigners wouldn't stand a chance. 

So Percy led them all to the guest rooms, told them to double up, and left them to their own devices until dinner. 

\--

Vex liked cooking. It called up fond memories of her mother and Vax, and lord knew she needed plenty of that. It still ached, a little bit, to think of Vax. Like there was a chunk of her that was just _gone._

It was worse when she didn't think of him. Sometimes a day or two would pass in a blur of children and meals and menial responsibilities, and she wouldn't think of Vax at all. Then, she'd turn to share a smile, a silent conversation, a joke, and he wouldn't be there. She'd remember. She'd spend hours going over his face in her mind, making certain she could see every detail. 

She hadn't known how to live without him. Some days, she still didn't want to learn. 

When she could stand it, she'd cook. She'd make Vax's favorite from their childhood, and she'd ignore the weight in her when Vesper gobbled it up with gusto. It made her happy, in a strange sort of way. It hurt, but she was happy. 

That day, she stood over the stove and tried to recreate her own favorite; a stew of rabbit and autumn vegetables. 

Percy came into the kitchen with a deep furrow in his brow and a handful of sketches that he spread over one end of the table. He had that look on that meant he wasn't really working, but worrying away at one thought or another. 

"Something wrong, Darling?" 

Vex had to keep one eye on the stove. One of the twins had shrieked instead of napping, so instead of letting her wake her brother, Vex had taken little Johanna down to the kitchen and let her play with spoons on the floor. 

Percy scooped up the toddler and sat her on his lap. "I'm worried about our guests." 

"What's got you worried about them?" 

Percy thought for a minute, letting Johanna play with his fingers. Vex had to turn back to the stove, but she knew that Percy would talk when he had something to say. 

"I think... I think they're hurting. Most of them. Over more than their kingdom, I think." Percy fished out all the things in his pockets that Johanna shouldn't have, and then let her dig around in them. "I feel like... maybe I'm worried that I'll get pulled back under. Back..." 

"Back into the darkness?" 

Percy nodded, his gaze sliding off her and onto the floor. 

"Percival, I love you. Do you know what that means?" Vex turned back to him, wooden spoon still in her hand.

"What?"

This was what they said every time, but Vex said it anyway. It was as much a promise as a reminder. 

"I will always, _always_ be here for you. Whether to pull you back into the light or sit with you in the dark, I will be here." Vex made promises with the same fire with which she loved. The same fierce loyalty, the same utter conviction. 

She softened, then. "It won't be a straight line, you know. Recovery. It's okay if you go backwards sometimes." 

Vex wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her face into his white hair. She would have kissed him properly, if she thought she could pull away in time to keep the stew on track. 

"Just, always come back to me," she said. "I'll always be here to help. Always." 

Percy nodded. Vex breathed against him for a minute, feeling his heartbeat under her hands. Then she pulled back. 

"That said, if you think it's best to send them away -" 

"No," Percy said. "I think they ... I think they need us." 

She smiled. "I think so too." 

Johanna warbled into Percy's jacket. No doubt there was drool everywhere, but neither Vex nor Percy cared. 

Vex picked Johanna up and sat her on her hip. 

Percy started collecting all the things he'd taken out of his pockets. "Was there something particularly odd about... what was his name? The redheaded one?"

"... Caleb, I think," said Vex, turning back to the stove. 

"Yes, Caleb." Percy leaned onto the table. "Did you notice anything particularly odd about him?" 

"He seemed quiet, but I'm sure there's plenty that we don't know about him. Why?" 

"I don't know what it was, but I think there's something strange about him." 

\--

Caleb steadied his hand before inking the first line along the king's chest. 

He thought he'd found a functional dispellment array, but there were only so many ways to test it without actually putting it on the king. So eventually, he'd collected his quill and ink, and gathered up the courage to ask the king to let him write on his chest. 

It didn't take half the courage Caleb thought it would. Since they'd docked in Emon, the king had been... different. Almost protective over him. He was never far, but it wasn't stifling, like Ikithon's closeness had been. 

He didn't entirely trust the lack of punishment, but the king would do as he liked. Caleb didn't have to understand. Or trust. 

It had been nearly a quarter of a year since Caleb had been given to the king, and he still didn't understand his rules. He was starting to accept that, even if he missed the neat, binary structure of Ikithon's rules. 

The king lay on the rug, arms outstretched, naked to the waist. Caleb straddled his hips carefully, quill in hand. 

The array took shape on the king's bare chest. Every so often, Caleb had to lean over the king's shoulder to reach the inkwell. Each time, he noticed again the way the king's curls lay in an elegant tangle on the carpet. Each time, he felt the king's breath through his own shirt, and it sent goosebumps rising across his body. 

When he was done, he put the quill down and waited for the ink to dry. It only took a moment, but he had to be sure before he activated it. 

Pressing his hands together, Caleb started the incantation. His palms began to glow softly.

Repeating the incantation, he lay his right hand in the center of the king's chest. 

He repeated the incantation a third time, and lay his left hand in line with his right, so that the heel of his left hand rested in the hollow just beneath the king's rib cage. 

He repeated the incantation one last time. 

\--

Fjord heard a heavy thump from the next room. 

He shot a questioning look at Caduceus, but Caduceus only shrugged as if to say _don't ask me._

Sighing deeply, Fjord got up to see what mischief Molly was up to in his and Caleb's room. 

When he opened the door, his heart nearly stopped. 

Caleb was on the floor, Molly on top of him, and one of Molly's hands was curled tightly around Caleb's throat. A growl twisted his mouth. His tail lashed. 

"Goddamnit, Molly!" 

Fjord tried to grab Molly and haul him off Caleb, but Molly rolled out of the way, taking Caleb with him. 

Caleb tucked his arms in, but didn't fight. He just closed his eyes and let Molly drag him by the throat. 

Molly rolled once more, pinning Caleb down and knocking over the inkwell. Ink spattered across Caleb and Molly both, and sank irreparably into the expensive carpet. 

Fjord tried to grab for Molly's arm, but Molly batted him away, scraping sharp nails down Fjord's forearm. 

Caleb started to turn blue. 

Out of options, Fjord grabbed a fistful of Molly's curls and dragged him off Caleb. Molly hissed and spit, clawing at Fjord's hand. 

Caleb's chest heaved. 

Molly twisted in Fjord's grasp, and Fjord finally caught a look at his face. 

Molly was _feral._ Teeth bared in a snarl, blood red eyes blazing. He'd bloodied Fjord's hand so badly it would scar, but Fjord didn't dare let go. 

"What happened?" 

Caleb flinched. "I- I- I- I put a dispellment array on his ch-ch-chest, I d-d-d-don't know what went-"

"Can you fix it?" 

"Y-y-y-" Caleb clenched his jaw "- _ja,_ I can f-f-fix it." 

"Great. Get started," Fjord said, trying to catch Molly's flying hands. His tail smacked into Fjord's legs with the force of a whip. 

As Caleb muttered, fingers twisting around a spell, Fjord managed to catch one of Molly's hands. Out of sheer luck, he caught the other, and he had both of Molly's wrists in one of his hands. 

Molly writhed and twisted, trying to break out of Fjord's grasp. 

Fjord had his arm across Molly's chest, pinning his body flush against Fjord's. Still, he writhed, tail beating against Fjord's legs. 

Before Caleb could finish the spell, Molly twisted just enough to bite Fjord as hard as he could. Fjord let go of his wrists in surprise, and Molly wrenched free of the hand holding his hair. 

Teeth still bared in an animalistic snarl, Molly bolted through the open door. 

\--

Johanna had finally settled down enough for a nap. Percy had offered to put her down, leaving Vex to finish cooking. 

Vex had just taken the enormous pot off the stove to cool, and was busy cleaning up the mess she'd made. It wasn't much, but she'd never been comfortable leaving it for the staff to clean up. She and Vax had been raised to clean up after themselves. 

She was just piling utensils in the sink when the door banged open. 

She whirled, kitchen knife in hand. 

A bare shoulder slammed into her, sending the knife clattering to the floor. At the last second, she caught hold of the sink and held on for dear life, despite the body trying to drag her down. 

Her attacker changed tack. He grabbed for her waist, meaning to swing her around into the middle of the kitchen. 

Vex flipped the strap of her apron off her head and over his. Though it caught on his horns, it kept him reasonably attached to her. 

As he struggled with the strap, she fumbled for the ties at her waist. they came undone quickly enough, and she was able to bind him precariously. He stumbled, and she undid the belt at her waist. 

She belted his arms to his sides. Though his tail lashed, he was mostly incapacitated. 

Molly. 

He looked practically feral. His teeth were bared, lip split and bleeding down his face. His eyes burned red as hellfire. 

Making sure that the stew was still stable and cooling, Vex rolled up her sleeves. Then she grabbed a handful of Molly's hair and hauled him to his feet, marching him back out the door. 

Percy met her in the hall. When he saw Molly, spitting and writhing in her grasp, he reached for his hip. There was no gun there, but she appreciated the thought. 

"Our guests have some explaining to do," she said. "Care to join me?"

"They certainly do," Percy said, "and it would be my pleasure."

"Lead the way, Darling." 

\--

Vex caught Fjord, Jester, and Caduceus halfway down the stairs. 

"Uh-"

"We can explain," Jester interrupted Fjord, putting both hands out. Then she turned back to Fjord. "We can explain, right?"

"We can explain." Fjord had that look that Pike sometimes got. The tired, exasperated look that came of cleaning up other people's messes one too many times. 

"Good," she said. "Where's the rest of you?"

"Gone to find him," Fjord said, indicating Molly, still trussed up in Vex's apron. 

"I'll get them," said Caduceus. 

"I'll go with you," Percy said, daring him to refuse. 

"Meet us in the parlor, Darling." 

Percy nodded, following Caduceus back up the stairs. 

Vex turned and marched Molly in the direction of the parlor. Fjord and Jester followed. 

\--

"So," said Vex, sitting Molly decidedly in an armchair. She didn't let go of his hair, even though he snarled violently. "Start at the beginning, please."

Fjord started at the beginning, and this time, he didn't leave anything out. He detailed how they came to Zadash, Molly's disappearance, how Caleb was gifted to them, and Molly's memory problem.

Percy, followed by Caduceus, Beau, Nott, Yasha, and Caleb, appeared a few minutes into the story. Percy moved to stand beside Vex, and the others clumped up behind Fjord. 

Fjord told Vex about how Caleb was working to fix whatever had been done to Molly, how they'd been invaded, and how they'd run all the way to Tal'Dorei. How he'd found Caleb and Molly in their room, spell gone wrong. 

"... I pulled Molly off him, got Molly pinned, but he broke free before Caleb could undo the spell." 

Caleb, for his part, kept his eyes on the floor. A dark bruise was forming like a collar around his throat.

"Can you undo it?"

Vex spoke directly to Caleb. 

He nodded convulsively. "Yes, my lady." 

"Why don't you do that," she said. "Then we can talk with Molly, too." 

She watched as Caleb twisted his fingers around the spell, muttering in a cracking, raspy whisper. 

The ink on Molly's chest evaporated in a dark cloud. 

Molly gasped, eyes rolling back in his head. His whole body shuddered. 

Tears spilled down his face. 

"Oh my god," he said. "I'm so sorry, I- what did I- Oh god-" 

Vex let go of his hair. He nearly toppled out of the chair, but she steadied him with a hand to his shoulder. 

Percy knelt down. "You all right there? Not going to attack anyone?" 

"No, I- I'm not. I promise, I-" 

"Okay." Percy stood. "Why don't you tell us what just happened?" 

"I just- Caleb was working on a spell to fix my memory, to get it back, and-" Molly took a shuddering breath "- it went wrong, somehow, and I couldn't- I just-" 

He dissolved, words mixing into an unintelligible mush of sound. 

"Okay," Vex said. She untied Molly and put her belt back on. "Percival and I are going to talk about this. You all are going to go back to your rooms, and some guards are going to keep you company until we reach an agreement. Alright?" 

It wasn't a question. 

The group shuffled out one by one, and Percy followed to make sure at least one guard went with them. 

Vex curled into a chair and waited for him to get back. She was tired, and really just wanted some stew. And maybe to wash the goddamn dishes. 

If she was honest, she was also a little bit excited. Their guests were a good bit more interesting than she'd given them credit for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone noticed that Taliesin Jaffe has a tremor in his hands? It's kind of endearing, and the more I learn about him the more he seems like a fictional character in his own right, complete with weird backstory and interesting presence. 
> 
> Me: what is a relatively practical, yet compromising position for Caleb to be in when writing on Molly's chest?  
> also me: OH BOY I'VE GOT IT  
> Me: oh that's so good.  
> also me: THERE'S MORE. *indistinct whispering sounds*  
> Me: oh SHIT  
> also me: they're going to love this  
> Me: poor Caleb just keeps goin' through it huh  
> also me: yessssssssssssssss


	32. Shoot the Messenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the wait; finals crept up on me and Writing took a backseat.  
> (for the record, I aced them)  
> Thanks for your patience!  
> Anyway, I'm going to start updating twice a week, hopefully on Mondays and Thursdays. We'll see.  
> Enjoy!

Molly couldn't look at Caleb. Every time he did, all he could see was the darkening bruise around his throat. 

He felt sick. _He'd_ put that bruise there, had broken his promise, had hurt Caleb again. In the months since the library, Molly had started to get comfortable again. He'd thought he was safe, that he wouldn't make another mistake so stupid. 

Then Caleb had, in his nervous way, laid him out on the carpet and _climbed on top of him._ Molly had sworn right then that he wouldn't betray Caleb's trust. The quill had scratched against his chest, raising goosebumps all along Molly's body. He felt the magic burn through him. 

When Caleb had activated the array, hands pressed to Molly's chest, everything in him twisted. It was like sand beneath his skin, driving him mad. Caleb was just a body that caged him in. The only conscious part of him reacted to the threat, flipping Caleb over and choking him until he turned blue. 

He was almost grateful for the ache in his scalp. Fjord had picked him up by the hair alone, and then Vex had dragged him along by it too. It was a small price to pay. 

Even after all that, Molly couldn't stop thinking about the feeling of Caleb leaned over him, quill scratching neat lines over scars and skin alike. 

He didn't deserve the memory. 

It was inescapably awkward to be alone with Caleb. The evening light poured in, over Molly's shoulders where he sat by the window, onto the carpet where Caleb had insisted he clean up. The ink had come out of the carpet more easily than Molly had thought possible, but Caleb took his time with the papers. 

Molly kept track of him out of the corner of his eye, but couldn't bring himself to look at Caleb. 

When Caleb had cleaned up, he started working again. Shuffling through the papers until he found one that was mostly blank, he set to writing. 

_Taking notes on the spell that nearly killed him?_

Molly tugged at his hair. It hurt, but that was the whole idea. It might distract him from eyeing the bruise on Caleb's neck, hurting himself in a whole other way. 

\--

Percy nodded at the guard as he passed, heading for the room that Molly and Caleb apparently occupied. He needed to speak to the others as well, but those two were first on the list. 

He knocked. 

From inside, a morose voice called back. "Come in." 

Rolling his eyes, Percy opened the door. He'd been like that, once upon a time. Blaming himself for everything he couldn't control as well as the things he could. Only now that he was mostly on the other side did he realize how _insufferable_ it was. 

It was his job now to make sure that these idiots lived to feel embarrassed about their insufferable behavior. Well, his and Vex's job. The only reason it was him doing the talking was because the twins had started to fuss, and Vesper was tormenting Trinket with glitter. Vex had drawn the short straw on that one. 

The morose voice had apparently been Molly, who lay draped over a chair by the window. Caleb seemed too absorbed in his notes to notice much of anything. 

Percy had been there. 

"I hope you two haven't gotten in any more fights," he said. It was mostly a joke, but Percy noted how Caleb's jaw clenched. 

"I'm kidding," he said, softer. "That bruise doesn't look too good. You've got a healer, right?"

"Yes, my lord," Caleb said. 

Caleb didn't offer anything else. Despite the handprint bruised firmly around his throat, Caleb didn't seem much different than before. In Percy's experience, most people couldn't carry bruises _that_ color without visible discomfort. Not unless they were used to far worse. 

Percy's brow furrowed. There was something deeply, deeply wrong with this, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. 

"Do you... want me to get the healer?"

Instead of answering Percy, Caleb looked to Molly. 

_Oh. Oh no._

Percy filed away his epiphany, deciding to focus on treading a little more carefully. If this was what he thought it was, he could make things very bad without ever meaning to. 

"Okay," he said. "Well, Vex and I have made a decision." 

Molly sat up. 

"You all can stay, and we'll help as best we can." Percy folded his hands behind his back, pushing away the urge to chew on his fingernails. "Although we have to insist that either Vex or I be present if you try to break Molly's spell again."

"Agreed," said Molly. 

Percy wanted to ask Caleb directly, but he wasn't sure whether that would get Caleb in trouble. 

Instead, he searched for a reason to stay. Percy had never been the best at making conversation, but he could try, couldn't he? 

"So.... how are you finding Whitestone?"

Molly draped himself back over the chair. "It's nice. Your wife is pretty terrifying, though."

"That she is," Percy said. The thought of Vex always made something warm bloom in his chest, no matter how long he spent with her. 

"Have you spoken to the rest of us yet?"

This was firm footing for Percy; plans and easy explanations. "No, I.... I wanted to check in on you first." 

"Oh," said Molly. "Well, Fjord and Caduceus are next door, if you'd like to talk to them next." 

Percy was intelligent enough to realize that the conversation was over. Still, worry coiled in his gut like a snake, and he didn't want to leave Caleb alone. Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do. If he insisted on staying, it might get Caleb in trouble later. He couldn't ask any difficult questions. He couldn't even ask the rest of their group, for fear that they were part of it too. 

Whatever he did, he was sure it would come back to bite him in the ass. 

"Have a good night," he said. He really didn't want to let them out of his sight. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Sure," Molly said, raising a hand. "Good night." 

Percy left, feeling as if he'd made a mistake somewhere.

Caleb's demeanor had left a sour taste in his mouth. The only thing worse than noticing a problem was being unable to help, and Percy had been marvelously unequipped for the problem he'd spotted. 

If he was being honest, Percy didn't actually know what abuse looked like. He'd read a lot of books and talked to a lot of people, but he'd never had the signs pointed out for him in real time. However, there was something off about Caleb. About the way he moved, the way he talked. It was a puzzle piecing itself together in front of him. 

Percy stopped in the hall. He was probably being ridiculous. Caleb might just be shy, have a higher pain threshold than most, and be uncomfortable speaking Common. Given his accent and Percy's penchant for conjecture, it wasn't impossible that he was misreading the signs. Egregiously. 

That didn't explain the way he carried the bruise. Percy liked to think that he had a high pain threshold himself, but even he couldn't have just ignored a half-crushed windpipe. And, judging by the color, it had been very, very close. 

Percy shook his head. If he wanted to help, the first thing to do was get solid information. Observation would prove or disprove his hypothesis, and then he could go on to offer Caleb help if he needed it. 

Putting aside his thoughts for the moment, he knocked on the next door. 

\--

Fjord opened the door to see the lord of Whitestone, Percival De Rolo. He was a good six inches shorter than Fjord, so his perpetually mussed white hair only cleared Fjord's chin. 

"Good evening," he said. 

"Good evening," Fjord replied. 

"May I come in? I'd like to speak with you and your companion," said the lord. 

He carried himself with such self-assurance that Fjord automatically stood aside to let him in. It was like watching a sea captain on his vessel, watching the lord pass him. Clearly, he was used to owning this place. 

"Good evening, mister De Rolo," said Caduceus. "Would you like some tea?"

"Ah, no thank you," said lord De Rolo. "I'd just like to let you know that you're welcome to stay here, and my wife and I will offer what assistance we can."

Fjord nodded, relaxing just a little for the first time since that morning. Finally, something was going their way. 

"Aside from that," said lord De Rolo, "we insist that if something like this happens again, you come get us _first."_

"Of course," said Fjord. "Our apologies, again, for the trouble-"

"No trouble," said lord De Rolo. "If you knew where to find us, you must know some of our exploits. We're quite used to shenanigans far worse than this." 

"I suppose so," said Fjord. It was odd. De Rolo looked like a regular man, except for his shockingly white hair, but there was a curious sharpness to him. In his eyes, perhaps; in the way he looked at things. Or perhaps it was in the way he held himself, a hair's breadth from... something. 

What was it? Would he pull a knife? Summon a blade the way Fjord had once done? 

No. There was something different about De Rolo. 

"Alright then," said lord De Rolo. "I'll leave you to your evening." 

"Thank you," said Fjord. 

"No trouble." The lord smiled, and for a moment he was soft. 

No, not soft. Warm. He was warm, wearing a look that you might wear when you looked at a child. 

"We were a lot like you, once upon a time," he said. "Vox Machina, I mean."

"Oh?"

De Rolo had his hand on the doorknob, but he didn't seem to notice. 

"Yes," he said.

Something darker came over him, seeming to weigh him down. Grief, perhaps. Or regret. 

"I just have one piece of advice for you, if you don't mind," he said. 

"Of course not," said Fjord. 

"Make the most of your time together." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Some promises can't be broken." 

He left then, closing the door neatly behind him. 

\--

Jester was dying. Of course, everyone was dying, but Jester specifically was dying because there was _only one bed_ , and there was _her_ and there was _Beau,_ and they were supposed to sleep in the one single, solitary bed _together._

It was a nice bed, if a little old fashioned. It also wasn't big enough (or small enough, depending on how she thought about it). 

But there was _Beau,_ already sprawled out under the covers in just her (slightly loosened) binding and smallclothes, reading _Tusk Love_ for the eighth time. So Jester couldn't just get in bed. 

What she was supposed to do, she didn't know. It wasn't like they'd never shared a bed before, but it had started to be _different_ somewhere between Nicodranas and Whitestone. Jester's heart had started to ache every time she got close to Beau. It was deeply upsetting, partly because Jester didn't know why it was happening. 

(She did know. She just refused to acknowledge it, because that would be _so much worse._ )

Finally, she was saved by a knock on the door. 

"Yeah," called Beau, without looking up. 

The door opened. 

Percival De Rolo, the lord of the house, came in. 

Jester started dying just a little bit faster, because there was _Beau,_ in bed, and there was their _host,_ and there was _Jester_ , all just there in a room and there wasn't any _not porn_ direction for this to go. He was _married_ for fuck's sake. It was right out of the kind of book that Beau had open on the pillow in front of her. 

"Good evening," he said. 

"Good evening," said Jester, drawing out the words. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt your evening, but I'd just like to let you know that you're all welcome to stay here," he said. "And I'm imploring you to come get my wife or me _first thing_ if another situation arises." 

"Okay," said Beau, one hand pressed flat to the open book. 

His eyes flicked to Jester, going wide when he saw the sharp grin on her face. 

"I should leave you to your evening," he said. "That was all. Please do let us know if you need anything."

"Okay," said Jester, watching him retreat with slight disappointment. This was not what she'd expected at all. 

He left as quickly as he could, leaving Jester to her dilemma. 

\--

Watching Yasha meditate was relaxing. _Drinking_ while watching Yasha meditate was one of Nott's favorite activities. 

Nott was pretty much wasted when there was a knock on the door. 

"Yasha," she said, nudging the barbarian with her foot. "There's someone at the door." 

Yasha didn't move. Was she asleep? 

Nott poked her. "Yasha!" 

Yeah. Yasha was asleep. 

Nott's vision blurred a little bit as she stood up. The knock came again, and she brandished her flask at the closed door. 

"I'm coming," she said, though her speech slurred so much that it was more a mush of consonants and vowels than recognizable words. 

She tripped. 

"What is this," she muttered, still slurring. "A carpet?" 

It was soft against her face. Better by half than the campsites they'd made on their way across Tal'Dorei, and better than the incessantly rocking ship before that. 

Without another thought, Nott passed out. 

\--

Molly heard Percival turn the corner out of the hall. Mostly because the lord was muttering under his breath, and had to pass their door again to leave, but Molly heard it. 

As soon as he was sure that Percival was gone, Molly shot up out of his chair. 

"Caleb," he said, crossing the room to stand beside him. 

Caleb looked up from his notes. "Ah, yes, Molly?"

Molly thought he'd explode. The request had been growing in him since the afternoon's.... incident, and Molly wasn't going to wait if he didn't have to. He wanted the spell _off,_ and he couldn't let Caleb get hurt because of it. 

Molly ignored the pounding in his chest.

"I need you to do me a favor." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous misunderstandings and cliffhangers?? in MY fanfic???? it's more likely than you think  
> 


	33. Pyrrhic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUESS WHO GOT INTO COLLEGE PROPERLY  
> also guess who wrote this after walking six miles after doing nothing for a month  
> WARNING: description of... violence? I guess that's the best word.

Caleb had to say no. It was a test. It _had_ to be a test. 

"Caleb," said the king. 

Caleb's heart crawled into his throat. 

"I need you to burn it off. I don't care that it'll hurt." The king was vehement, red eyes blazing. Judging by the way he leaned forward, he was close to grabbing Caleb by the shoulders. 

Caleb shook his head mutely. It was one thing to write on the king's chest. It was entirely another to use _hostile_ magic on him. Caleb's gut knotted up just thinking about it.

Despite how badly he wanted to turn off his brain, it was already racing ahead, calculating the risks of each possible method. Too slow, and there'd be time for the magic to scrub the king's mind clean beyond repair. Too fast, and Caleb ran the risk of hurting him badly. Do it in the wrong order, and there was no telling what kind of chain reaction it would spark. 

A memory of the king's bare shoulders, inked all over and nearly glowing in the sunlight, claimed Caleb's attention. Realization followed on its heels. 

He'd ruin the king's tattoos. 

He couldn't do it. He shook his head again, not daring to look at the king as he recognized Caleb's failure. Caleb could _feel_ him thinking over all the possible punishments, and he was breathing like he couldn't process the oxygen, and -

"I just -" the king broke off, dropping his gaze. "I can't hurt you again." 

Caleb's mind went blank.

_I can't hurt you again._

It was barely a second before his thoughts rushed back in and drowned him. Why would the king care about hurting Caleb? Why? It didn't make sense. This new piece of information didn't fit into the puzzle, which meant that it was either a test, or Caleb was _wrong_ about... just about everything.

It was probably a test. _Probably. Probably._

What if it wasn't? 

"Caleb," said the king. "Please." 

"Ah, I -" Caleb stopped. Opened his mouth. Closed it.

Finally, he spoke. "I will."

Damn the bruise around his throat. Damn his self preservation. If the king wanted something, Caleb would do it. It was his job. It was his _purpose,_ his whole reason for being. 

"Thank you," said the king. It was quiet and a little scratchy, like he was about to cry. 

Caleb watched as he stripped off his shirt. 

"Do you you want me to lay down?"

"Ah, whatever would be comfortable," said Caleb. "I do need access to your back, though." 

"Carpet it is, then." 

The king laid himself out like a fallen angel. Moonlight poured in from the window, though it was almost drowned by the flickering candlelight. 

"Feel free to touch," said the king.

Carefully, Caleb gathered up the king's wild curls and laid them to the side. His heart pounded in his chest. 

The king just smiled at him. "You can actually sit on me this time, if it's easier for you." He seemed to think for a moment. "On second thought, maybe it's a good idea for you to pin me down; I have no idea what my pain threshold is."

Caleb nodded. "Yes, Molly." 

As carefully as he could, Caleb climbed over the king's hips and sat there, rolling out his wrists and fingers. There hadn't been a need for his hands when he'd done it on himself, but it would be different on another person. 

It would be different on the king. 

Muttering the incantation, Caleb trailed his fingers along the sigils. As he closed the circle, he pulled his hands away sharply. The magic gathered there, in the hollow of his palms, heating the air until it danced. Caleb's hands became a shimmering mirage. 

When he pressed them back down to the center of the king's back, there was a faint sizzling sound. The king gasped, tensing beneath him. 

Caleb clenched his jaw. 

The sigils began to blister. It was so faint it might have been a sunburn, but both Caleb and the king knew better. As Caleb watched, the burn darkened. It went from sunburn blisters to the first degree, no worse than accidentally touching a hot pan. 

It was then that the king began to writhe. At first it was small, little bitten-off shudders all along his spine. His fingers dug into the thick carpet. Clearly, the king was trying to conceal it, but Caleb didn't quite understand why. 

As the burn got worse, and faint smoke began to curl around them both, the king stopped tying to hide it. He writhed wildly beneath Caleb's weight, though he never managed to throw him off entirely. 

When the king's skin began to blacken and crack, he started to whimper. It was a pitiful sound that tugged at Caleb, but he couldn't stop until there was no trace of the sigils. 

Caleb did his best to keep the heat at surface level, causing as little damage as he could. He didn't know whether it helped the pain. 

Tears streamed down the king's face. He whined, writhing in pain, as Caleb grit his teeth and kept going. 

There was something very, very wrong with this. Caleb didn't know what it was, but he could feel the wrongness crawling under his skin, gnawing at him. Any second, the king would throw him off and pin him down again. Perhaps he'd wrap a hand back around Caleb's throat, or find the softness beneath his ribs and dig with sharp fingers. Still, Caleb kept burning. What else was there to do?

The king stilled, tremors racing up and down his spine. It was nearly done. Nearly. 

With a final burst of magic, Caleb pulled his hands away, ending the spell. There wasn't a single sigil left on the king's body. Instead, there was a pattern of raw burns. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pyrrhic: Adj. Something that comes at too great a cost. Ex; "It was a pyrrhic victory."
> 
> Me: candlelight is Technologically Accurate For The Setting  
> also me: its also Romantic  
> Me: not when you're burning someone's skin off  
> also me: different strokes for different folks  
> Me: Okay That's Enough For Now


	34. Aftermath

Fjord should have known better than to expect a quiet evening. Really, when he'd joined this group he should have said his goodbyes to anything even _resembling_ a quiet evening. If it wasn't Jester causing trouble, it would be Beau getting into it, or maybe Molly scamming the locals, or Fjord himself accidentally volunteering for another anarchist demonstration. That had been an awkward week. 

So when Fjord settled in at Whitestone that evening, he really shouldn't have expected it to stay quiet. 

The door to his and Caduceus' room flew open. Caleb stood in the threshold. 

"Caleb?"

Fjord stood up. There was something wrong, he knew from just the fact that Caleb had opened his door. 

"The king needs - he needs Caduceus," said Caleb, clearly struggling with his accent. 

Fjord looked to the firbolg in question. Caduceus stood, stretching. 

"Well, let's go and have a look, then," he said, smiling gently. 

Caleb turned and rushed back down the hall, without waiting for Caduceus or Fjord. 

They followed. Fjord just saw the edge of Caleb vanishing back into the room he shared with Molly, and he knew that it was bad. Categorically, Caleb's behavior had been rude. It wasn't that Fjord was offended, or, gods forbid, planned on punishing Caleb for it. It was just that Fjord had only ever seen Caleb be studiously polite and obedient. This was a stark change in behavior, and Fjord had a feeling he didn't want to know what had caused it. 

When Fjord followed Caleb into the room, the first thing he saw was Molly. On the floor. On his front, like he'd passed out and fallen there, which might have been plausible if not for the length of time it had taken for Caleb to get Caduceus. More than half an hour since Lord De Rolo had come through, which was too long, even if Caleb had tried to wake him up himself first. 

"What happened?"

Caleb dropped his gaze. He'd been watching Caduceus as he knelt beside Molly, taking his time to identify the problem. 

"I did as he instructed me," Caleb said. Fjord could barely see his face, but he could hear how wrung-out Caleb sounded. 

"What did he tell you to do?" 

Fjord tried to keep his voice gentle, but there was an anger burning in him that he couldn't keep hold of. Molly had done it again. He'd asked Caleb for something that he shouldn't have, and Caleb hadn't been able to say no. 

"He-he-he told me to-to burn the spell off him," Caleb said. His knuckles were white, gripping his elbows with all his strength. 

"Oh for _fuck's sake,"_ Fjord growled. He couldn't help himself. This Molly was a self-sacrificing bastard who never thought twice about the collateral damage. This Molly. The Molly that he'd had to deal with for months on end, who acted like little more than a child, who didn't have the sense to look past the end of his own nose. The Molly that had hurt Caleb not once, but _twice_ now. 

Fjord hoped that the real Molly was back, and he didn't have to deal with the other one anymore. 

Caduceus' hands began to glow. 

Fjord wanted to reach out for Caleb, but he knew that it wouldn't be a good idea. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

"Caleb," he said instead. "I'm not angry with you."

Caleb nodded, but Fjord knew better than to take him at face value. 

"I am never angry with you, Caleb." Fjord wished that Caleb would look at him. "Do you understand?" 

"Yes, Fjord." 

Fjord nodded. That was probably the best he was going to get. 

"He's all set," said Caduceus from his spot on the floor. "He won't wake up, though. I can't figure out why." 

Fjord looked to Caleb. "Care to guess at the reason?"

"Magic residue," said Caleb. "His mind may need time to adjust."

Fjord nodded. He was too tired for this shit. Now that it didn't look like Molly was going to die, and his anger had nowhere to go, the day's adventures had caught up to him. He was _exhausted_. 

However, there was still one thing he needed to take care of. 

"Caduceus, why don't you share with Molly tonight. Keep an eye on him." 

Caduceus agreed and scooped Molly up off the floor, muttering soothingly. 

"Caleb," said Fjord. "Why don't you share with me tonight?"

Molly wouldn't get another chance to hurt Caleb. Not if Fjord had anything to say about it. Besides, he'd never fall asleep if Caleb and Molly were sharing. Two incidents in one day was enough, as far as Fjord was concerned. 

Caleb followed him back to their room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Sorry for how short this chapter is; I'm working on a book of poetry, an acting workshop, my grandparents' yard and extensive garden, and two other fics, so I'm pretty burned out.   
> I hope you enjoyed! We'll get back around to Molly's predicament eventually, but first...... Caleb's Trauma (and Sleeping Arrangements). 
> 
> Stay safe! 
> 
> \- Phoenix


	35. Dreamscape

Molly didn't sleep. Molly dreamed. 

They were strange dreams, of death and dirt and flooding sunlight. They were dreams of mud, blood, and arms like iron wrapped around him. 

A suggestion of shadowed green woods. A faint, ragged voice chanting arcana.

There was barely any detail to speak of, but Molly was uncomfortably aware of his teeth, and a pounding in his head. Something viscous and warm dripped from his left temple. There was a hole in his chest. 

He was awkwardly shoved into a pit, the iron grasp bruising him right down to the bone. The blue sky swirled dizzily above him.

Shovelfuls of dirt landed on him heavily, again and again until he was pinned. The breeze played across his face. It was the only part of him still unburied. It was the only thing he could feel. 

Someone crouched on his chest, above the dirt, and pulled out his teeth one by one. Yet, when he ran his tongue over the spaces, his teeth were still there. 

The person on his chest laughed, rasping and ragged. 

_There's more than one way to defang a fiend._

A shovelful of dirt covered his face, getting grit in his eyes, nose, and mouth. It tasted of death. 

Molly was nine, clawing his way up one of the palace walls. The ivy was old enough and sturdy enough to help him on his way, and he was small enough to vanish right into it. He was starting to catch on to his father's ire. No, spitting at Mollymauk wasn't the marker of a good mood. 

Molly was ten. Kaadius, king of Zadash, was blood red from the tips of his horns to the soles of his boots. So was his heir, Arxius, who always stood at his side like a threat. Molly watched them from a rafter of the old war room, arguing over a battle plan. He'd learned to vanish by the time he was six, and had learned to hoard information soon after.

He watched as Arxius stood his ground. Molly watched as Kaadius backhanded him, then pushed his head down to the table until Arxius's horns dug into the wood and stuck there. He watched Kaadius yank him back to his feet by the hair, and Molly was thankful that he was invisible. 

Molly was thirteen. Taverns and bars let him in, but never let him buy more than two drinks. He suspected that the drinks he did get were on account of the royal crest stitched into all his jackets. 

Molly was seventeen, and blackout drunk on the nasty side of the city. He hadn't been home in three days. Nobody called. Nobody came looking. Molly found another bar and kept drinking. 

Molly was nineteen, and he was the only one who went to his mother's funeral. 

Molly was twenty-three. He ditched his family-issued clothes at the black market and followed the circus out of town, learning to juggle from a friendly fire fae. 

Molly was twenty-five, only just learning to read and hating every second of it, meeting his best friend on the road and braiding flowers into her hair, leaving the circus the second the wind changed.

Molly was twenty-six, getting tangled up in the wrong bar fight and finding a family for his trouble. 

Molly was twenty-nine, receiving a letter that would change his life. 

Molly was thirty. His memories had been stolen, locked away in his head, and he was doing nothing but hurt his family every day. 

Molly was spiraling. There wasn't anything he'd ever done to balance out his mistakes, his inactions, the harm he'd done. There was nothing he could do to balance it out. It was a zero-sum game. 

There was a memory drifting along, and Molly clung to it, blindly hoping to escape.

Fingertips, resting tentatively on his back. A quill scratching across his bare chest. Hands, feverishly warm and trembling, pressed to his back. The steady weight of Caleb sitting astride his hips. Molly couldn't see, but he knew that touch. That steady, cautious presence. 

Caleb. Caleb kissing him back, following him down. 

Molly slept. 

\--

Caleb waited, jaw clenched, for Fjord to close the door. He'd learn in short order, he was sure, exactly how Fjord liked to discipline. 

He tried to keep his hands from shaking. It didn't work. 

He tallied up the successes he'd had, the meals he'd gotten to eat. He was sure that this failure would warrant more than starvation. How much more? 

Caleb heard Fjord close the door with a click. Quiet.

He felt his lungs seize. Caleb kept his spine as straight as he could, fighting to regulate his breath. He stood in the middle of the room, Fjord at his back. 

He waited. His ears began to ring. His gut knotted up so tight that he could barely breathe around it. 

"Caleb?"

Fjord's voice was so gentle. Why? Why? How would he turn that, too, into a weapon? 

"Are you okay?"

What was the right answer? What was it? Did Fjord want guilt or stoicism? What did he want? What was the right answer?

"Caleb," said Fjord again. "Can you look at me?"

Caleb turned. His vision had gone strange, like the world was on the other side of a window thick with condensation. 

Fjord was looking at him with visible pity. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised. 

Why? Why would he say that? Caleb knew it wasn't true. It couldn't be true. He had every right to hurt Caleb. Why did he lie? Why? 

"I'm going to get ready for bed," said Fjord. "You are too. You can use Caduceus's things if you like. We're going to go to bed, and I am not going to hurt you." 

Caleb nodded. What else could he do? What response did Fjord want? What was the right answer?

Fjord nodded. "I promise, Caleb, that I am never going to hurt you." 

Caleb nodded. What else was there to do? 

Numbly, he watched Fjord change and climb into bed. Blankly, he shed his coat, shirt, boots, and trousers. He slid into one of Caduceus's shirts and lay down beside Fjord. The shirt was far too big for him. It slipped off one of his freckled, scarred shoulders, and fell almost to his knees. 

Fjord tucked the covers over him. Blew out the candles. 

What now? What did Fjord want him to do? 

Slowly, Caleb turned over the possibilities. Every part of him, inside and out, felt wrung-out and weak. Regardless, he thought. 

By the time he settled on the most likely possibility, the moon was high outside the window. 

Caleb shuffled close beside Fjord. He could tell by his breathing that Fjord hadn't fallen asleep. 

With one last, steadying breath, Caleb took the plunge. 

He pressed his mouth to Fjord's in a clumsy kiss. At first, Fjord didn't respond, and Caleb felt a cold jolt of fear. He'd miscalculated, and he was about to pay for it. 

But then Fjord mumbled something into his mouth, and raised a hand to hold his face and the other to pull him flush to his chest. Caleb lay in his arms, losing oxygen into a soft, deep kiss. 

Caleb's own hands lay on either side of Fjord's head, suddenly eager to tangle in Fjord's hair.

Fjord's sleepy yellow eyes looked up at him, a smile playing across his mouth. Caleb felt Fjord's hand in his hair, fingers gently running through the strands. 

Then, something flashed in those yellow eyes. The sleepy, pleased look vanished. 

Caleb's heart hammered. He leaned down again, trying to fix it, and kissed Fjord again. 

For a split second, Fjord didn't do anything. 

Then he tensed, rolling Caleb onto his back and sitting up. 

"Don't-" he cut off, pushing a hand through his hair.

"Caleb," he said. "You don't owe me this, okay? You don't need to do this. I'm not going to - to ask you for this." 

Fjord studied him for a moment. 

Caleb nodded. He didn't know what else to do. He'd miscalculated. He'd miscalculated badly. And now, he was going to pay the price.

But Fjord just climbed off him carefully, tucked the covers over them both, and lay back down with his back to Caleb. 

It was a long time before Caleb fell asleep. 

When he did sleep, in the early hours of the morning, he dreamed. 

A fire raged in his hometown, spitting sparks into the inky autumn night. He was thirteen, and no one recognized him or his forbidding master, so they were free to watch the flames consume the little farmhouse. They were free to listen to Caleb's family burn to death. 

His mother screamed. Hers was the last voice; the others had long since gone silent. 

Ikithon stood beside him, watching the flames with no expression at all. 

By then, Caleb had spent longer with Ikithon than with his family. He hadn't seen them in years, and before then he'd seen them little. Really, his clearest memories of his family were from seven years before, the spring before he turned seven. His mother's skirts, sweeping the worn wooden floors. His father's laugh. His brother and sister shrieking as they chased each other through the newly green fields. 

Now it was all burning. 

How old would his brother have been? Sixteen? He'd have had a sweetheart from town, perhaps. Someone who'd never see him again. 

And his sister? She'd have been barely fourteen. Barely grown enough to work the booth at market day. Too young, yet, to have lived at all. 

His parents? Did they know, when they had him, that their youngest would be the death of them? 

And there was him. He died then, too. Seven years and a day from the time he'd apprenticed to Trent Ikithon. 

He'd been Bren Aldric Ermendrud. It was that boy who studied hard, who had had a golden childhood, who had seen his future like a golden fruit before him. 

_You are a good student, Bren,_ Ikithon had said, voice nearly swallowed by the crackling flames. _But you are not Bren anymore. You are leaving that life behind you. Now, you are Caleb._

And Caleb had nodded, feeling the ache of the scars already layered thick across his body, because what else was there to do? 

In his sleep, Caleb trembled, feeling the fire consume everything his mind's eye had to offer. 

\--

Generally, Percy didn't dream. Unless Vax really had something important to say, which had only happened once in the years since he'd gone to the Raven Queen. However, Percy did have an uncanny ability to wake up exactly when he needed to, regardless of whether anything externally discernable could have done it. 

Vex thought it had something to do with the trauma. Percy just thought it was useful. 

It was useful, especially when it meant he got woken up just before the twins started shrieking at one in the morning so that he could let Vex sleep. 

But when he woke that night, only an hour or two after he'd gone to bed, the twins and Vesper were all sleeping soundly. The guards were all where the were supposed to be, doing what they were supposed to be doing. 

The only possibility was that the guests were up to something. However, all the seams of the doors were dark, all the rooms quiet. 

Percy wasn't about to go invading a guest's privacy without good reason. Even if there had been an incident already. So, in spite of the trepidation writhing in his gut, he went back to bed. 

It was going to be a long night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Maybe it's time for some real backstory on Molly.  
> also me: dream sequence!!!!!  
> Me: fine, but only if everyone gets one!  
> also me: yessssssssssssssssssssssss okay I have SO many ideas  
> Me: oh no


	36. Restless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Local Goth Discovers Shenanigans And Draws Hasty Conclusions

By the time morning rolled around, Percy had gotten exactly three hours, twenty six minutes, and seven seconds of sleep. It was not enough. 

He swung by the kitchen first, hoping for something a little stronger than tea. After raiding his stash of imported coffee, he thanked the cook and headed upstairs to check on the guests. 

His chronically exhausted body had a different opinion, but it wasn't too early to say hello. 

He knocked first on Yasha and Nott's door. 

They opened, grumbled aimlessly for a few minutes, and then Percy went on his way. 

Jester and Beau next. They, too, chatted for a minute or two. Jester looked rumpled, but seemed chipper enough. As for Beau, he was surprised that she was still able to look badass with her hair plastered to the side of her head and both eyes sticky with sleep. 

After extricating himself from a conversation with Jester, Percy knocked on Fjord and Caduceus's door. 

Fjord opened it, looking like he hadn't slept, or hadn't slept well. Behind him, dressed in nothing but a shirt that was so enormous that it had to be borrowed, Caleb sat on the edge of the bed.

Percy's mind kicked into overdrive. How did this change in sleeping arrangement fit into Percy's hypothesis? Either Caleb had gone to Fjord for safety's sake, Mollymauk and Fjord were both to blame, or the entire group was passing him around like a toy. None of those situations were good ones, and Percy was too sleep-deprived to run the math. 

"Good morning, my lord," said Fjord, looking just a little out of focus. 

"Call me Percy, please," he said, clutching at his coffee like it would magically solve every problem set in front of him. "I see you've... switched rooms." 

"Yeah, we.... uh, wanted something a little different, I guess."

"... did you now," Percy said. "Is there any particular reason?" 

"No, just.... you know." Fjord waved a hand. 

Percy studied him for a moment. There was definitely something fishy going on. As for what exactly it was, he had several ideas, and none of them were good. 

"Well, I'll leave you to your morning. Let the staff know if you need anything," he said. "There will be some breakfast in the dining room in an hour or so." 

Fjord nodded, stifling a yawn.

"Thank you." 

"My pleasure," said Percy, and nodded before turning. 

This was the last door. Presumably, Caduceus and Mollymauk were inside. 

Percy had liked Caduceus well enough. He'd seemed competent, if a little slow on the uptake, and he was apparently one of the group's healers. Percy wondered, briefly, whether he was trustworthy. Whether any of them were trustworthy. 

He knocked. 

There was a muffled clatter and a muttering voice. The door opened a moment later, and Percy was greeted by Caduceus. 

Who was still in his clothes from the night before. 

Percy's suspicion doubled. 

"Good morning," said Percy. 

Though he was tall, Caduceus didn't block much of the room from view. In fact, he was skinny enough that Percy could see right under his wiry arm. Mollymauk was apparently still sleeping, though in an unnaturally neat position. On his front, arms by his sides, covers tucked neatly around his waist. 

"Good morning, Mister De Rolo." Caduceus smiled gently. "How are you?"

"I am as well as can be managed," said Percy, offering a smile in return. "And you?"

"Oh, I'm alright. Just did a bit of healing, so I'm a little worn out, but -"

"Oh? Nothing too serious, I hope." 

As he spoke, Percy's mind raced. Something had happened, likely the evening before, between Caleb and Mollymauk. Something that had ended with Mollymauk, and possibly Caduceus as well, needing healing. That something had ended with Caleb in Fjord's room, and Caduceus staying with Molly. 

"Oh, it wasn't too bad." 

One by one, Percy organized his questions. Even if he didn't ask them out loud, it was the best way to organize his thoughts and whatever information might be presented in the future. 

Question one: What exactly happened? 

Question two: Was either Fjord or Caduceus involved? 

Question three: What, if anything, did Fjord and Caduceus know about it?

Question four: What was Caleb's overall situation with the Mighty Nein? 

"I would be quite interested in knowing why and how Mollymauk got injured," Percy said, in a way that he hoped made it clear that he wasn't really asking. 

"Oh, I'm afraid that it isn't my place to explain," said Caduceus.

Percy's eyebrows rose, almost involuntarily. "Do you know who might be able to explain?" 

"Oh, probably Caleb. Molly would too, but it doesn't look like he'll be waking up very soon, so-"

"Alright," said Percy. "I will be right back, then." 

Percy did not have enough energy for this. He was pretty sure that his entire stash of coffee wouldn't give him enough energy. 

He knocked again on Fjord and Caleb's door. 

"Look, Jester," said Fjord, opening the door. "I don't want - oh." 

"Hello," said Percy. "Could you and Caleb follow me, please?" 

He wasn't asking. He saw Fjord recognize his tone, and saw Caleb come right to the door. 

They followed him wordlessly back to Caduceus and Molly's room. 

Percy knocked, and didn't wait for an invitation when Caduceus opened the door. 

"Now," he said, crossing to the middle of the room. "I would like someone to please explain why I found out this morning, when I came to say good morning to all of you, I found out that one of my guests apparently needed healing last night." 

In the silence after he spoke, Percy saw Caleb stiffen almost imperceptibly. 

"Caleb," he said, trying to soften his tone to be nonthreatening, while maintaining his tenuous control over the situation. "Would you like to explain?" 

"L-l-last night -"

Before Caleb could get very far, Fjord put himself between Caleb and Percy. 

"Mollymauk did something stupid and rash," he said. "Last night, he ordered Caleb to burn the memory spell off him. Molly passed out, Caleb came to get Caduceus, and we decided that Caduceus would stay with Molly and Caleb would stay with me for the night." 

Percy nodded, putting on a show of thoughtfulness. There were a number of things that immediately jumped out at him about Fjord's explanation. First of all, Caleb had apparently obeyed Molly to the point of causing him bodily harm. Secondly, Fjord was clearly telling it secondhand, even if he'd left out his own whereabouts in his explanation. 

Aside from the explanation itself, Fjord seemed quite protective over Caleb. Percy just wasn't sure whether it had crossed the line over into possessiveness. 

"You say that Mollymauk ordered Caleb to harm him," Percy said. This was a dangerous question, but if he didn't ask it now he'd be stuck with conjecture for who knows how long. "Why did Caleb follow such an order, even if it was from the king he's loyal to?" 

Fjord blanched. Not a lot, but enough for Percy to know that something bigger was going on. 

Well, he had already suspected, but it was gratifying anyway. 

When Fjord didn't speak, Percy turned to Caleb directly. "Why did you follow such an order, Caleb?" 

"Because -" Caleb swallowed. Fjord looked at Percy with a cautious expression. "Because he is my master." 

Caleb said it evenly, like it was a perfectly natural thing to say. In fact, it was the first time Percy had heard him say _anything_ so steadily, without stuttering or doubling back on himself. 

Percy was pretty sure his eyebrows had crept all the way up under his hair. Carefully, without taking his eyes off Caleb, he set his coffee down on the desk against the far wall. 

"Okay. Well, would you explain to me what that means?" 

Fjord looked stricken. Percy kept his eyes on Caleb, like if he just kept looking at him, he'd be able to protect him. 

"I, ah, I am his," said Caleb. He kept his eyes on the carpet. 

Percy calculated his odds of getting Caleb through the door before Fjord or Caduceus grabbed at them. It wasn't good, so he stayed where he was. THe situation was so, so delicate. Percy could ruin it with one wrong move. 

For lack of anything better, he asked another question. "Would you mind telling me how he became your .... master?" 

It was an odd thing to say. It made Percy uncomfortable, and not because he'd never used the word. He'd used it plenty, in all kinds of contexts, but this was not one he'd ever seen before. 

"M-master Ikithon gave me to him as-as a gift," he said, biting down awkwardly on the last word. He still kept his eyes on the carpet, but Percy noticed his shoulders shaking slightly. 

Despite the abject fear coming off Caleb in waves, Percy felt a small relief open up in his chest. It hadn't started with the Mighty Nein, then. 

But the question still remained: were the Mighty Nein mistreating him? 

Fjord seemed to regain control of his faculties, and jumped headlong into the conversation. 

"I can promise you that we haven't done anything to him," Fjord said, a desperate edge to his tone. "I swear it."

Percy began to feel as if he was in over his head. 

Nevertheless, he persevered, and directed his next question to Caleb. 

"Is this true?"

Mutely, Caleb nodded. The poor man looked terrified. 

"Caleb, I need you to tell me the truth." He felt guilty for pushing, but he understood that abuse victims would lie sometimes for fear of retribution. "I can keep you safe if you think they'll hurt you."

Caleb ran his tongue over his bottom lip, clearly thinking over what he was about to say next. 

"I h-have not been hurt." 

"Has anyone touched you without your permission?"

A pause. 

"No." 

Percy sensed something off about that, but he let it go. The odds weren't in his favor just then. 

"Well, I would very much appreciate it if someone would explain to me the whole story," he said. "And I sincerely hope that I won't have to ask a fourth time. From when Caleb first met you, please." 

Fjord nodded, and, with Molly unconscious behind him, Percy heard the story again. 

\--

Molly felt like he was wading through mud. He slogged on endlessly, but consciousness never came within reach. 

There were flashes of it, of cold winter sunlight or the weight of covers over his body, of the raw tightness of his back, but they slipped through his fingers the moment he tried to wake up fully. 

Memories crowded his mind, like they wanted to make him live his entire life over again in excruciating detail before letting him go. 

He fought towards consciousness like a man possessed. He'd let his friends down for too long already. 


	37. Awake

Molly gasped for breath. Heavy covers pinned him to the bed, his feverish skin sticking to the sheets. He struggled for a fruitless moment, trying to get his arms under him, legs and tail thrashing. His chest was collapsing. He couldn't get enough air. 

A gentle hand on his bare shoulder. Big, long fingered, warm and soft. The scent of chamomile and lavender filled his head. 

"Slow down there," said Caduceus. "You're perfectly safe, my friend." 

"Fjord." Molly fought to sit up, still dizzy and sick. "I need to speak with-"

"I don't think that's a good idea just now, my lord," said Caduceus. 

Molly gripped Caduceus's arm, using it as leverage to pull himself to his feet. The room spun. 

Caduceus grunted, catching Molly's full weight with his body. "Oh my," he said. "Perhaps you should sit down. I'll fetch Fjord, if you insist, but -"

"Get him," Molly growled. It was all he could do to stay conscious, with his head in a vice and his stomach roiling. Bracing his hands on the edge of the bed, he fought to stay upright. 

Caduceus let go of him slowly, making sure that he wouldn't fall over, before leaving to get Fjord. 

Molly's head spun. His fingers curled, sharp nails ripping into the sheets, as he tried to stay upright. He had to fix it. He'd done so much wrong, he'd let everyone down, he had to fix it before it tore him apart. 

As hard as he tried, he couldn't stop himself from rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed. His vision was blurry and unfocussed. He felt sick. 

"Molly!"

He could barely look up as Fjord rushed over, kneeling before him and putting both hands on his knees to steady him. 

"I'm sorry," said Molly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I-"

"Hey," said Fjord. "It's alright. It's okay. You need to rest. Let us take care of you, okay?"

"I'm sorry," Molly said. He wasn't coherent enough to say anything else. 

Fjord stood, put both hands on Molly's shoulders, and pushed him down gently. 

"Rest," he said. "We can talk when you're well, okay?"

Molly's vision blurred so badly that Fjord was barely a green smudge in his periphery. Then the dark rose and claimed him. 

\--

Molly woke to the weak winter sunlight striped across his face. He was cold, shivering right down to his bones. 

Someone shifted to his right. The sound of fabric rustling, muffled footsteps, deep steady breaths. A rumbling voice. 

"Good morning," said Caduceus. "Did you sleep better?"

Molly groaned. His mouth tasted like death. 

"Let me help you sit up, so you can drink some water," Caduceus said. "It's important to drink water." 

A slender hand slipped beneath him, and Caduceus picked him up with one hand. The other held a cup, and even when Molly reached for it, Caduceus helped him drink. 

"There we go," said Caduceus. "Better?"

Molly nodded. He wanted to hold onto the clear, cold taste as long as he could. 

"Your fever broke last night." Caduceus set the cup on the bedside table. "Though you should still rest, I believe the worst of it is past." 

With Caduceus's help, Molly laid back against the pillows. Snow blew against the window, glittering like broken glass in the sunlight. 

Again, Molly slept. 

\--

He woke with the moon gazing in at the window. 

His body was wrung out and aching, but his head didn't hurt anymore. lying there in the moonlight, he felt like himself for the first time in months. The realization nearly made him cry. He was himself again. Not the shell of himself he'd been for months, not someone else pretending to be Mollymauk Tealeaf. 

Caduceus snored quietly in the armchair. 

Molly rolled over, gazing out the window at the snowy trees and sleeping garden. The snow glowed in the moonlight. 

In the end, Molly fell asleep to a dream of blue eyes and red, red hair. 

\--

"Well," said Caduceus, "I think you're all set."

Molly sat on the bed, back turned to Caduceus, but he twisted around to look at him. Smiling softly, Caduceus offered him a shirt. 

As Molly tugged it over his head, Caduceus stood. 

"Would you like to join the others for lunch? I can certainly bring something up for you, but-"

"I'd like that," said Molly. 

He climbed off the bed and stretched generously. Fear twisted through him sharply. It would be the first time in months that his family would see him. It would be the first time that Caleb would see him.

He ignored it and grinned up at Caduceus. 

"Ready when you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, transitional chapter.  
> but who's excited to see how this goes down?? I know I am


	38. Window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mildly disordered eating, mild self harm, and general mental health issues.

The table was quiet. 

If Caleb had been thinking more clearly, he would have noted how ill-suited the Mighty Nein were for silence. Every few seconds, he caught Jester fidgeting, or Beau flicking water at Nott, or Nott reaching for someone's pockets, only to be batted away. They were restless. 

As it was, Caleb could only pay attention to the fear that suffocated him with every passing second. It twisted up his insides until he could barely eat, as though in spite of how grateful he was for everything - for their patience and the single, simple set of rules he had to follow - his body had decided to reject it all. 

Wary of Fjord beside him, Caleb picked at his plate. He managed a few bites, but mostly he just did his best to disguise his lack of appetite; tearing up the fine bread with his hands, picking at the meat until it was in many tiny pieces. He was methodical about it, ruining his plate slowly enough that nobody noticed. 

As Caleb tore the last of the bread into pieces too small to recognize, he caught a flash of rosebud-pink in the corner of his eye, over by the door. Caduceus, of course. 

Then, behind Caduceus's towering skeletal body, a sweep of dark curls and the tip of a plum colored ram's horn. Unadorned, but recognizable all the same. 

As they came into the room, Caduceus stepped aside, and the room went dead silent. If Caleb focused, he could hear each person breathing. The silence was just as suffocating as his fear. Except, he was sure, everyone was feeling this weight. 

"Molly?" Asked Nott, in a voice so very, very small. 

"It's me, Nott," The king said. "It's really me, this time." 

Jester stood up, chair scraping across the flagstones, and ran to the king, throwing herself against his chest. He held her tightly as she cried into his shoulder. 

Caduceus smiled softly, hand still laid gently on the king's shoulder. It wasn't just him, either; one by one, the rest of the Mighty Nein joined the tangle. There were muffled tears and words that Caleb couldn't catch, all of them holding on so tightly that he could see white knuckles from where he sat, and suddenly there was an aching emptiness inside him. They were a family. They'd chosen each other, and god help anyone who fucked with the Mighty Nein. 

Caleb dropped his eyes back to his plate. He'd done his job. He'd succeeded. 

Why did he feel so empty?

A lump formed in his throat. He dropped his hands into his lap, knowing that if he'd had trouble eating before, it was now impossible. 

The sound of the Mighty Nein's reunion claimed his attention, even if he couldn't let himself look. They cried, and talked in the soft tones that spoke of such relief and love that it made his very soul ache. What would it feel like to be held like that? 

Perhaps it would be like that night, like that moment Fjord had him so close Caleb could feel his heartbeat, feel his breath, soak up the warmth of his skin. Perhaps it would be like that day in the library, the king curled around him and feeling his body like a shield keeping the cold at bay. 

At the thought of the library, Caleb's memory flew to the taste of magic in his mouth, intoxicating. 

With a flick of his fingers, a spark lit up against his belly. Steady, he told himself, and did his best to undo the little errors he'd been permitted, one by one. He straightened his spine, focused blankly on the wall opposite him, and lay his hands neatly on his lap. His plate was a mess, but he didn't know how to fix it without making it worse. He couldn't get up and take it away; he hadn't seen where the kitchen even was. If he ate, he'd be sick at the table, and then the mess would be worse, and it would cause a commotion, and -

It would be worse. It would just be worse. 

So he sat by himself at the table, focusing on the tiny spark burning on his belly, whisking the smoke and the scent away every few seconds with a flick of his fingers. He'd done it a hundred times before. 

Once they'd all gotten tired of elbows in their ribs, or the ever-growing chance of falling over, or sticky skin against their shoulders, the Mighty Nein split apart and took their seats. Jester scrambled to clear a place for the king, and pushed a plate that Beau and Nott had filled in front of him. 

"Thanks, Jester," he said, and smiled. It made his face softer than Caleb had ever seen. 

In spite of himself, Caleb watched the king eat, and in spite of himself he remembered that mouth on his, the taste of magic - and the inescapable fear that twisted around him once his mind had cleared. He was a fool to think that he could shake it so easily. 

Beside him once more, Fjord watched the king as well, and though Caleb only glimpsed his expression, it set the knot tightening in his gut. Fjord's face was like stone. 

When everyone had finished, Nott and Jester were the first out the door, walking backwards so they could invite the king to play games and cause trouble. Beau, Yasha, and Caduceus managed to shepherd them away, and so Fjord, Caleb, and the king were the last left in the grand dining room. 

Fjord made to leave as well, still stony faced and quiet. Caleb followed automatically. However, the king had other ideas. 

As Fjord turned down the hall, jogging to catch up with the rest of the group, the king caught Caleb's wrist and kept him in the empty dining room. 

When Caleb turned back, the king dropped his wrist and tucked both hands behind his back. His face flushed a darker shade of lavender. 

"Caleb," he said, shifting his weight, "could I talk to you for a moment?"

Caleb nodded. "Yes, Ma- Molly."

Curiosity burned in Caleb, but he ignored it. It would burn itself out. 

"I'd like to apologize for how I've behaved these past few months," said the king. "You didn't deserve to be hurt, and I'm sorry. I don't know if it helps, but I'm sorry." 

What had the king done to hurt him? He'd never raised a hand, never aimed a spell or weapon or even bitter words in Caleb's direction. Why did he apologize? 

Evidently, the king saw Caleb's confusion written across his face. 

"Oh," he said softly. "I see." 

He took a breath then, though Caleb didn't fully understand what was happening. Fear was knotted up inside him, winding tighter with ever passing second. This fear was worse than the usual kind. The usual kind was just... aversion to what he _knew_ would happen. This was fear of the unknown, the fear you feel when you've swum much further from the shore than you expected, and there's nothing beneath you but darkness. 

"Caleb, I'm sorry for making you do things, for doing things _to you_ , when you couldn't say no." The king was looking at him with his hellfire eyes turned warm and safe as a kitchen hearth, and Caleb was burning. 

"... thank you," Caleb said, finally, because he didn't know what he was supposed to say, but he had to say something, he couldn't just stay silent, he couldn't - 

"No, Caleb." The king's mouth curled into a rueful smile. "Thank _you._ You've done me kindness, even when I didn't deserve it. Thank you."

Caleb struggled to keep from shaking. He had to figure out what the right response was, what the king wanted from him, what he was supposed to do next. 

"Of- of course, Molly," he said, dropping his gaze. If only the king would stop looking at him like that, if only he had the script for this, if only he'd been taught what to do, if only, if only, if only. 

"Okay," said the king. "Now, I - what's that smell?"

Caleb's attention snapped back to the spark, still burning against his stomach, where he was soft. He hadn't cleaned away the smoke and the scent in a few minutes. His human nose couldn't catch it yet, but clearly the king's senses were far sharper. 

"It is-" Caleb broke off, throat closing. "It is me, Molly." 

"It's _what?"_

Wordlessly, Caleb tugged his shirt up until the spark was visible, glowing red against his pale, scarred skin. He watched as the king's eyes went wide for a split second, and kept watching as he studied the miniature, long-lived fire. 

"Caleb," he said, voice so tense Caleb thought it might shatter. "Put it out." 

With a flick of his fingers, the spark died, leaving a raw spot just below the jut of his ribs. 

The king straightened. The look in his eye made Caleb want to melt away into nothing. 

When the king spoke, his question dropped like a stone between them.

"Why?" 

Caleb shook his head. Why what? What had he done? He'd used that tiny bite of pain to stay awake, to remind himself, to bring himself back into his body a hundred times over. What made this time different? What made this time wrong? 

"Caleb, why did you hurt yourself?" 

The king didn't ask this time. He demanded, leaning into the question, digging for the truth. 

Caleb was in no place to refuse. "So... so I would, ah, stay. Present." 

Was that the right answer? Was he supposed to admit to weakness just like that? Or was his behavior unacceptable for another reason, some reason he hadn't yet dared to consider? 

"How-" the king cut off, swallowing thickly. "How many times have you done this?" 

_Too many to remember._ "Many times." 

Caleb hoped that was answer enough. 

The king studied him. Caleb tried to stay calm, to stay collected without the pain to keep him sharp. Every moment was a battle to stay aware, as the ringing in his ears grew and his peripheral vision blurred. 

Finally, the king lurched into motion, grabbing his wrist once more and leading him down the hall.

"Come," said the king, looking over his shoulder with a furrow in his brow. "We're going to see Caduceus." 

Following obediently, Caleb watched the king expertly pare Caduceus away from the rest of the group, shepherding them both into his room. He could have sworn Fjord tried to catch his eye as they crossed the threshold, but he didn't have the courage to return his glance. As far as he could tell, the others barely noticed. 

The moment the door closed behind them, the king let go of him, but stayed close enough that Caleb could feel him shift with every breath. 

"Cad, could you- could you heal Caleb? It's just one little thing, and other than that I'd just like to know -" 

"Of course, Majesty," said Caduceus, inclining his head in a way that suggested a bow.

Caleb waited for Caduceus's hands to glow, for the soft warm light to push him over the edge. 

But it never came. 

Realizing that his eyes were screwed shut, Caleb worked to unwind just enough to convince the king and Caduceus that he was still in control. Muscle by muscle, he had to consciously relax, and then he had to contend with how his body wanted to shake harder than a leaf in the wind. 

"Are you alright, Mister Caleb?"

Eyes still closed, Caleb nodded. 

"Alright," Caduceus said, sounding suspicious at best. 

Caleb kept his eyes closed, so when the warmth of the magic and Caduceus's hands spread over his chest, it was out of the blue.

Both gentle and immediate, the magic raced through him. He could feel it knitting up the tiniest splits in his skin, the scrapes and scratches from months of travel that still hadn't entirely healed, and he could feel it winding around his bones, tracing over all the old fractures. He could even feel the magic undo the tiny red welt just below the jut of his ribs. 

Then Caduceus lifted his hands away, and Caleb swayed unsteadily. 

"Why don't you sit down," said Caduceus, and guided Caleb to the bed with one hand. 

Caleb sat, certain that standing wasn't an option just then. If he tried, he'd end up on the carpet instead. 

Beside him, the bed dipped as the king sat down. A pair of gentle, warm hands took his, and Caleb felt a flash of something hot and liquid in his throat. 

The king spoke then, without letting go of Caleb's hands.

"Caleb. Don't ever hurt yourself, okay? If you- if you feel like you're going to, I want you to come get me. Okay?" 

Caleb nodded. His confusion only lasted a moment; clearly the king would be the one to administer all punishment. This was familiar ground. Even if Master Ikithon hadn't liked to get his hands dirty, it was an easy conclusion to draw. It was a logical conclusion. 

"Why don't we let him get some rest," Caduceus suggested quietly. 

The king squeezed Caleb's hands once, then stood. "That's a good idea." 

Caleb heard Caduceus's steady gait travel along the hallway and away, but the king's didn't follow. 

"Rest, Caleb," he said from the door. "Please."

So Caleb did. There wasn't room in his mind anymore for questions. Or for anything else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The road to hell is paved with adverbs, and guess where I'm headed, babey !!
> 
> I'm reading American Gods and it's.... perplexing. To say the least. I love Neil Gaiman, but does Anyone have thoughts about What He Did In The First Chapter.
> 
> Sorry that this chapter took so long. I wanted it to be good! I'm not sure it got there, but it's damn close. 
> 
> comments fuel my will to live (and to keep writing). Much love to all my beautiful readers!
> 
> \- Phoenix


	39. Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there, dear reader! I have been gone for quite a while (whoops) but I hope this chapter makes up for it! There will be more soon but for now please enjoy.... this. 
> 
> WARNING: attempted suicide. 
> 
> I'm serious. Tread carefully, friends.

As much as Molly would have been content to just watch over Caleb, to keep him safe, he had work to do. Their kingdom needed them, and he'd wasted too much time already. 

When he left Caleb in the room, he left all of those feelings and thoughts as well. He would have time enough for all of that once he was done. Instead, he rounded up the rest of his family and piled them all into Fjord's room for a meeting. 

Once the door was shut, he brought the scheming session to order. 

"Everyone," he said, sitting cross legged on the bed, "we need a plan." 

Jester, who had her head in his lap and her tail wrapped around his wrist, rolled her eyes. "We know _that_. What I wanna know is what, exactly, are we planning to do?"

"I'm glad you asked," he said, a grin sharpening on his mouth. "We're going to take down the Empire." 

Yasha looked at him like he was crazy. To anyone else, it would just have been her normal expression, but Molly's years by her side had taught him to recognize the tilt of her mouth, the subtle shift in her brows that said _you idiot, you're going to get us killed._

And he also knew that, underneath the incredulity, was a promise of _you may be an idiot, but you're my idiot._

A swell of immense gratitude for her rose up in his chest. She'd been his friend before he was anything but a runaway bastard still finding his footing on the road, and he'd been grateful even then, but knowing that she'd stuck with him through everything since filled his heart to bursting. 

"Uh-uh," said Beau from her spot on the floor. "There's no way that's possible. Not with just the eight of us, no matter how powerful we are."

"Well-" Fjord tried, but Beau cut him off. 

"As much as I'd love to knock some Empire heads, it's just going to get us killed. At this point, we don't even know what we're getting into, and I'd rather not go on a suicide mission." 

Fjord cleared his throat. Leaning back, Beau waved a hand, evidently finished with her piece. 

"Well, we do have a couple of advantages to consider," Fjord said. "For starters, the guard is likely still alive and in the palace, as long as they've cooperated. If we can get a message in to them, we could have a two-pronged attack going pretty easily. Also, I would bet money that we can convince the De Rolo family to give us a hand." 

Nott, from atop the nightstand, passed her flask to Molly. He took a drink, coughing violently when he found it far too strong for his taste. 

"Nott!" He passed the flask back as she cackled. "What _is_ that?"

"The worst moonshine I could find."

"Of course it is," said Molly. 

And it went on like that. Planning until the sunlight flared evening gold in the window, examining options until the candles were lit. It was very late indeed before they had a feasible plan, but in the end, they all went to bed satisfied with their work. 

\--

Earlier that evening, before darkness had settled but after the sun had set, Vex and Percy had sat together and talked like they rarely had time for. A real talk, like they'd had before Vesper was born, before Johanna and Percy IV. 

"They're quite the crew, aren't they," said Vex, tucking her legs up and leaning back. The upstairs parlor was small and twice as disgustingly opulent as the rest of the castle, and it was Vex's favorite. 

Percy stood from where he'd been building up the fire, adjusting his glasses. "They remind me of ourselves. Do you remember when...?"

"When we were still finding our footing with each other?"

"Exactly," said Percy. "Remember how awful we were?"

"Of course," she said, mouth curling into a smile. Memories were dangerous terrain, but it was worth the hurt just then. Vax's absence didn't outweigh the wave of nostalgia. 

"So," he said, and came to sit beside her on the chaise. 

"So," she said, smile broadening. 

"Are we going to help them out? More than we have, I mean." 

Vex made a show of shaking her head disapprovingly. "Percival, darling, would you ever dream of sending them off on their _own?"_

"Of course not," he said. "I'm just checking." 

Gazing steadily at the dancing flames, Vex tapped her chin. 

"Of all the adventures we've had," she said, "do you ever remember collapsing an empire?" 

"Not off the top of my head," Percy replied. 

"Should we call Keyleth or have her babysit?"

"Have Scanlan and Pike watch the children," Percy said. "I have a feeling we'll need Keyleth for this one." 

Vex nodded, and they let the conversation fade comfortably into silence. 

\--

Caleb was in the dark. He'd never disliked the dark particularly, preferring it to the flickering snap of firelight or the relentless light of the sun. The dark was gentler than any light he'd ever known. Other than those half-remembered honeyed summer days. But, those were long gone, never to return, and too far out of reach to hold for more than a moment. 

It was so dark, and it was so soft. Comfort held him in its embrace, and for a single passing, fuzzy moment, he let it. 

His chest constricted. Were his lungs collapsing? Was he dying? He wouldn't have minded, except - 

Except there was a body beside him. He could feel them breathing, feel their heat beckoning him closer. 

He couldn't breathe. He could feel his sins like grime beneath his skin, like a pit in his chest, and all around him was the softness, the gentleness, the kindness that he didn't deserve. _H_ _e didn't belong._ He was ruined, he was sure. If there ever was anything salvageable inside him, surely it had been burned or scraped or scrubbed away, and now there was just him. A boy who'd killed his parents. Who'd disobeyed. Who'd made himself irredeemable by inches, and now, like a madman, wished to undo it all. 

A stray curl tickled his cheek. It wasn't his. 

The body beside him shifted, and he heard fabric catch and tear on the tip of a horn. He heard a sigh, low as a cat's purr. 

The king slept beside him. 

He couldn't breathe. The bed was too soft, the walls too secure, the darkness too gentle. If he lingered too long, he felt that his soul would bleed through muscle, skin, bone, ruining everything he touched. A pit had opened up in his chest, and he needed, he _needed, he_ _needed_ -

Caleb fumbled in the dark for the king, his master, and closed his fingers around his wrists. His heart pounded in his throat. And he bit down on the king's collarbone, hoping - 

The copper taste of blood filled his mouth. Dread dropped through him like a stone, but he couldn't turn back, he'd already done it - 

The king woke with a gasp. In a split second Caleb was on his back, pinned down with two hands wrapped around his throat so tightly he felt his head go light. Fear coiled in his belly but his own hands lay outstretched on the bed. He wouldn't fight. 

In the dark, his consciousness guttered like a candle at the end of its wick. Would he die with a pair of thumbs crushing his windpipe? Would he die with that hot liquid feeling pooling in his throat, just below the king's hands? He would, he thought. He would die smothered beneath a body that didn't know or care that he was ruined, he was irredeemable, he was useless. He would die just like Wulf, like his parents who hadn't deserved it, his brother and sister who hadn't deserved it, and when he was dead he wouldn't have to watch everyone around him realize what he was. 

He barely noticed the king gasp above him. He barely noticed the crushing grip on his throat, and barely noticed it loosening in shock. All that mattered was how much he needed to hurt.

When the king tried to pull his hands away, however, Caleb gripped his wrists and held him there, unaware of the tears streaming from his eyes. 

" _Bitte-_ no, no, no -" 

His voice rasped from the bruises that pressed into each other, but he begged and begged. It didn't hurt enough, his mind still raced, he still felt every every inch of himself burned hollow and he loathed the truths fire uncovered in him, he wasn't beyond saving but he was beneath it. And it _didn't hurt enough._

But he wasn't strong enough to keep the king from pulling away, and leaving him on his back, heaving, bruised, and painfully, horribly alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess I had some stuff to work out and I accidentally took it out on Caleb.  
> ... Oops? 
> 
> Anyway, I HOPE you all didn't disregard that warning because I was serious wasn't I?


	40. Opacity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who gets introduced in this chapter???
> 
> That's right,, 
> 
> the real protagonist here,,
> 
> Frumpkin
> 
> also a warning for a severe depressive episode. Tread carefully my friends.

Fjord was so, so tired of bullshit. Unfortunately for him, his chosen family seemed incapable of producing much else, despite his numerous and varied complaints over the years. So when he woke up that morning, of his own volition, to a flood of sunlight and Caduceus's quiet snores, he immediately got a bad feeling. 

Usually, if it wasn't Beau and Jester playing tackle-tag at the crack of dawn, it was Nott and Molly scheming up another distressingly complex prank. Or it was Yasha and Beau getting carried away while sparring and accidentally setting off a thunderstorm over their heads. Or it was any other combination of shenanigans that Fjord had to marshal everyone into cleaning up. It had been years since he had woken up to a quiet morning. 

Which is why he was not surprised, when he opened the door, to find Mollymauk sitting just outside. 

Fjord sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. "What's happened now?" 

On one level, Fjord didn't want to know. On every other level, he had to. 

Molly looked up. He'd had his body folded in half with his head tucked into his arms, so it was only when he looked up that Fjord could see the tear tracks running down his face. 

Given that Molly wasn't one to cry, it took Fjord a minute to notice the bloodied spot on Molly's chest where his shirt had soaked it up and stuck down as it dried.

"Caleb -" Molly took a breath, clearly trying to get ahold of his emotions. "I hurt Caleb. Again." 

Roiling heat blocked off Fjord's throat. He ignored it, waiting for Molly to continue. 

"He - he rolled over and bit me, Fjord, he bit me _hard,_ while I was sleeping," Molly said. "And I just.... reacted. Before I was even awake I had him pinned, but - you have to believe me - I stopped as soon as I realized. I _stopped._ I let go, I tried -" 

Molly's voice broke. 

"I _tried,"_ he said again, "to get off him, but - he grabbed my hands and _held_ me there, Fjord, he- he tried to make me hurt him. He _begged_ me to hurt him. And when I - when I had him, when I had him pinned, he didn't fight it, Fjord. He closed his eyes and _let me hurt him."_

Molly was crying by then, fat tears rolling down his face and dripping off his chin, and the anger in Fjord's throat melted. 

"Okay," he said slowly, cursing the fact that he was the one forced to work the problem. Always, it was everyone else breaking down and Fjord keeping it together long enough to work the problem, get things done, fix the issue and get them moving. Why did it always have to be him? 

"Okay," he repeated, surer this time. "Come on." 

And he offered Molly a hand. Molly took it, and together they hauled him up and into Fjord's arms, where Fjord held him tight until his breathing slowed into a regular rhythm. It didn't take long. 

"Come sit with Cad," he said, and Molly followed him morosely into the room. 

Caduceus had woken up at some point, and had set up his tea service beside the blazing hearth. the cups were already filled with that curious mix of herbs, and the room was full of the sweet drifting steam. 

"Hello, Mollymauk," he said, tail flicking in a serene manner. 

Molly folded himself into a sitting position by the fire and accepted a cup. 

Fjord then crossed the hall to check on Caleb. 

Caleb hadn't fallen asleep, but the only way Fjord knew that was by Caleb's bale blue eyes flickering open at the sound of the door. Even then, he didn't look over. He just stared blankly at the ceiling. 

"Caleb?" 

It was as though he didn't hear. Caleb just lay on his back, arms outstretched, a dark ring of bruises blooming around his neck. 

"Caleb, do you want me to get Caduceus for those bruises?"

He didn't answer. Didn't give the slightest indication that Fjord had even spoken, didn't so much as blink.

Something bitter coiled up in Fjord's gut. A little like fear, a little like anger. Frustration welled up in his chest. 

Fjord left before his emotions got the better of him. 

\--

Over the next few days, Caleb was catatonic. He didn't eat, didn't seem to sleep, and didn't respond to anyone. As far as anyone could tell, he didn't even notice when someone was speaking directly to him. 

Every member of the team had a turn questioning, cajoling, and finally ordering him to eat. He gave no indication that he'd heard. 

The afternoon of the fourth day, Molly walked in to see Caleb sitting cross-legged with his back to the headboard, an orange tabby cat crawling up and down his shoulders. 

It was slight, but Molly could see Caleb's shoulders tense. He could see his fingers twitch as though to snap, but Caleb shied away from it at the last second, going back to his resolute blank stillness. 

"Who's this?" 

Molly sat down on the edge of the bed, leaving the plate he'd brought on the side table. 

Caleb didn't respond. The cat, however, slid off him like an oil slick and shoved his head under Molly's outstretched hand. As Molly scratched at his chin, the cat purred so loudly Molly thought he could have heard it from the next room. 

It was barely a minute before Caleb scooped the cat back into his arms. He was clearly doing his best to cling to his blank expression, but Molly could still see the fear written clear across his face. 

"I won't hurt him," Molly said, swallowing his mixed disappointment and pride. "I just brought you something to eat." 

Caleb tucked his face into the cat's fur. The cat, for his part, was still purring like a tiny orange siege engine. 

\--

Caleb didn't know what to do. He'd crossed a line somewhere, he knew that much, and now there was no going back to the old plan. Following orders, searching for the pattern he had to follow, doing his best to be good. That wasn't going to work anymore. Not now that he'd shown the king what he really was. 

Useless. Irredeemable. 

It was a shame he hadn't just killed Caleb then, when he could have called it instinct or self-defense. Now they all had to deal with the mess that he'd left over. 

Fjord had come some time later, and Caleb had dared to hope that he'd finish it. He hadn't. 

Then came Caduceus with soft warm hands, reversing the damage he'd managed to wear for nearly twelve hours. 

Then came Jester with a plate full of food that he couldn't have eaten if he'd wanted to. 

Then came Beau, with an awkward speech that went in one ear and out the other. 

Then it was Nott, and Yasha, and then Fjord came again, and the king, and they talked at him and threatened him but they never once laid a hand on him, and he couldn't bring himself to move or care. 

Then he found himself wanting Frumpkin. And he couldn't find any reason why he shouldn't summon him anymore, and so the cat appeared with a snap. They could do whatever they wanted to him; just so long as he had fingers to snap and a moment's notice he could keep his familiar safe. 

And the king had come in while Frumpkin was cajoling him to eat, distracting the cat and causing Caleb's gut to knot up so tight he could barely breathe. 

But then the king had left. Without threats or coercion or so much as scratching Frumpkin too hard. 

And Caleb didn't know what to do about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies, Gentlemen, and Bastards of all identities, THIS is my boy's turning point. You'll see. 
> 
> Headcanon that has literally nothing to do with this chapter: Caduceus smokes weed when he can get it. 


End file.
